The Anatomy of Techno
by Wotcherer
Summary: University is supposed to be the best time of your life, they said. But Patsy Mount, doctor in training, can't seem to shake the public school girls, the affections of rugby lads, and angry post-it notes in the kitchen. But most of all, she can't seem to shake a certain edgy Welsh ticket rep.
1. Bagels and Lemsip

A/N: I've been desperate to do a modern AU for these two for some time, so here it is. It's set at a fictional Redbrick university in England. I hope you enjoy, I'm not so sure of it, as I wanted something a little lighter to write, and period drama is proving difficult to translate - so do let me know what you think.

* * *

Patsy

University had been fun so far, she supposed. Well, as fun as it could be studying medicine. Halls were decent – she had been lucky. The horror stories of friends who had gone elsewhere about mould and cockroaches hadn't translated into reality for her, as she had been assigned to a relatively new-build accommodation block. No en suite, but she could dream, and it wasn't so bad as she was sharing a bathroom with five other girls, so the only downfall was long hair clogging up the shower and make up scattered all over the place, but no nude boys and general filth. Three weeks in though, and fresher's flu had taken hold of her. Her ears hurt, her throat burned and she couldn't remember what it was to breath through her nose. Three weeks of lectures hadn't equipped her with the knowledge of how to deal with this beyond gallons of honey and lemon, neither was she going to be able to prescribe herself anything anytime soon. She had gotten off rather lightly though, compared to Barbara, who had been bedridden for four days straight, much to Trixie's dismay as she'd had to miss out on her birthday trip to Paradise.

The girls she shared her kitchen and bathroom with were lovely enough, though she had only really gotten to know Trixie so far, and Barbara through sympathetic toast deliveries and Tesco shops on her behalf. Trixie had her all partied out to last her a lifetime though, to the point where she felt as if she'd seen the sweaty inside of Paradise, Voodoo's and Rev's more than she had seen her lecture halls or text books during fresher's week. Patricia and Lavinia were lamenting that she wasn't in their accommodation block though, and were forever trying to get her to come over for girl's reunions with some of the others. The amount of girls from her school who had come here was unbelievable – well, not entirely unbelievable. The only people who didn't go to a Russell Group from her school went to do an art foundation instead, or took a gap year. There were plenty of boys knocking about that she knew as well, from the boy's school and others. She kind of wished she'd gotten an entirely fresh start at a place where she knew no one, but that would have required applying internationally, and for medicine that was too much of a headache and unjustifiably expensive, not that her father wouldn't have paid.

"Patsy, are you sure you won't come out?" Trixie pleaded with her, as she sat cross-legged on the other girl's bed, watching her do her make up in her mirror.

"Trix, look at me." The other girl turned and glanced her up and down, in her pinstriped pajamas and her dressing down. "And have you heard my voice?" She croaked.

"Fair enough, I suppose." She said, whilst curling her eyelashes. "I went out with tonsillitis in fresher's week though."

"We don't all have your devotion to a 90's girl band tribute night though, do we?"

"It was all worth it when Wannabe came on." She shook her head blissfully, reminiscing with a smile.

"And when Tom Hereward came onto you, I suppose." Patsy ribbed.

"Not really, quite awkward when I had to spend the whole night dodging him because I didn't want to get with him for the first time and give him what I had." Trixie sighed.

"Made up for it the other night in Voodoo's though, didn't you?" She grinned. "And now all anyone can talk about is how the head of the Christian Union was seen getting with a fresher all night long."

"I know, right? They all think we went home together, but he got all awkward about it. I don't know why."

"You do realise he's probably a virgin, Trix." Patsy pointed out.

"No one's a virgin these days when they come to uni." She sighed, and Patsy shuffled awkwardly. "Sorry Pats, I meant boys. And besides, it's different for you."

Patsy held her breath, worried the other girl had guessed. She had made noble plans to just come out as soon as she got to uni – it wasn't as if anyone would care, and if they did, they would be in the complete minority. But then every bloody girl from her school had to get an offer and drag her along to every single rugby and rowing social, insist she go to their pre-drinks, and introduce her to all of their friends, and all of a sudden it had become a lot harder to just get it out of the way. And now she was afraid, rather irrationally, that Trixie wouldn't like her anymore if she knew, wouldn't pull her into a cubicle when they were clubbing to save them both queuing for the toilet, wouldn't feel comfortable when they passed out in the same bed together, wouldn't dance with her when they went out – and god knows, she needed someone with Trixie's moves to distract everyone else from her god-awful dancing.

"What do you mean by that?" She asked carefully.

"Well, it's not like you couldn't – you're really hot, Pats. So you don't really count. And besides, you went to a girl's boarding school so it's not your fault." She reasoned, and Patsy sighed with relief.

"I'm not hot, Trix. But thanks for the sentiment."

Trixie groaned, "You have to stop that. All the rugby boy's tongues fall out of their mouths around you, I swear its because you're way more subtle than the rest of the girls, acting like you don't want them while they fling themselves about the smoking area hoping to be noticed and pretending to need a cigarette."

"I don't want them." Patsy replied.

"Oh, come on. I understand they're not everyone's type, but you've got to admit, that Josh is absolutely gorgeous." Trixie sighed.

"They're not my type at all." She said firmly, biting her lip.

"Look, babes. I've got to run – it was nice of your friends to invite me to their pre-drinks even though you've been flaky as fuck." Trixie seemed to enjoy the company of her school friends more than Patsy did – she wasn't quite as jolly hockey sticks as the rest of them though, having gone to the private day school in her town, but she kept up well. She only wished that her friends from school didn't spend so much money when they went out, it wasn't fair on anyone else they invited, and Patsy couldn't justify fifty pounds on cocktails on a night out, even if her father would keep putting money in her student account as long as she needed it – it was just distasteful.

"I've not been flaky, Trix. I'm not well. I'm going straight to bed."

Trixie turned off the Taylor Swift playing from her laptop, and switched off her fairy lights, "Oh, there she goes again, playing that weird arse music." The other girl rolled her eyes as the whole building seemed to vibrate to the beat of next door. Trixie hadn't stopped moaning about her next-door neighbour Delia and her raucous pre-drinks and strange electronic music. "All that makes her bearable is that hot one who takes all the club pictures, Denny Wray, I think his name is. He's always round her place."

"Delia seems alright." Patsy reasoned.

"That's because you don't have to live next to her. Her and her friends were skateboarding down the hallway the other night when I was trying to sleep." She rolled her eyes.

"And you've never played Bey a little too loudly, have you?" She teased.

"No, actually, not since the last time I tried to do a rendition of Drunken Love. Winnie was banging on the wall. You remember?"

"Yes, you were trying to teach me to slut drop." Patsy laughed, recalling well how Trixie had tripped over the bottle of vodka and nearly cried in her drunkenness at the waste.

"Right, I'll see you later, babe. I hope you feel better in the morning."

She do desperately wanted to head to bed for the night, deciding to give the textbooks a miss until she felt better. She'd have so much to catch up on, but her head was banging so hard that she couldn't think of anything worse than studying right now. It was times like these she wondered why on earth she just hadn't taken something less time-consuming than medicine – art history, like Trixie, or Classics, like Barbara. She collapsed into her mattress, opening her laptop with the noble ambition of watching a few episodes of something or another on Netflix, but fell asleep minutes into Parks and Recreation, only to wake at an unknown hour with her throat feeling worse than ever. The pain and the heat radiating from it made her eyes water when she tried to swallow, and she hoped to god she hadn't picked up tonsillitis – Trixie had been given a clean bill of health a week ago, so it couldn't be. She really ought to know, but they hadn't studied that yet. Only anatomy.

She stumbled out of bed, pushing open her door and heading into the kitchen to rummage through her friend's cupboards, desperate to see if she had some Lemsip, preferably the drowsy kind, left over from her bout of illness – why on earth hadn't she stocked up in fresher's week? When she walked in it was dark, and there was a figure that appeared to be having an argument with a bagel. She frowned, flicking on the light, spotting Delia by the toaster wielding a large bread knife. The other girl was never in here cooking, so she deduced that like so many others she lived off a diet of various types of bread and pot noodles, unlike Barbara and Trixie, who seemed to have a love affair between them for avocado and quinoa and the like, so she was well looked after. She stumbled backwards when she turned to glance at Patsy, clearly drunk.

"Hello." She smiled.

"Um, maybe you shouldn't be doing that. Here, I'll cut it." She approached her, carefully taking the knife from her hand and slicing the bagel into two equal halves.

"You absolute star." She smashed each half with the ball of her hand. "You have to squish them to get them into the toaster." She explained when she caught the bemused look on Patsy's face.

"Right." Patsy said, opening Trixie's cupboards. "I'm just looking for some lemsip."

"Its in there, on the top shelf." Delia remarked, and Patsy wondered why Delia seemed to know the ins and outs of Trixie's cupboard, but all was explained when she reached into the fridge and pulled out Winifred's tub of butter. So she was the one who had led to all the angry post-it notes from the girl about stealing food from others, and she couldn't help but smirk, remembering how accusations had flown and drama had been lived out in the first week, but the real culprit had evaded all detection.

"Thanks. Good night?" She inquired gently.

"Absolutely cracking." Delia grinned. "Went to Bunker, Zed Bias was performing. Why he'd come here I have no idea, but it was amazing. Then I was so hungry, but I really wanted chips and curry sauce and no-one here seems to _get_ that, you know?" Patsy feigned understanding of who this DJ was, and wondered why on earth she wasn't satisfied with cheap ketchup. "So I thought the next best thing was a toasted bagel." She couldn't argue with that.

"Do you want a cup of tea while the kettle's boiling?" She asked, watching her attack the now warm bread with Winnie's butter reasonably successfully.

"Aw, that would be lush." She said, half falling into a seat at the table and setting into her modest meal. Patsy glanced back at her after emptying a sachet of Lemsip into a mug and popping a tea bag into another for Delia. Everything she wore always seemed to be rolled up, the sleeves of her t-shirt, the hem of her jeans – maybe it was something that really cool people did. Bunker was the only cool place in this town, she knew that much, though she'd never been – it was intimidatingly edgy. Trixie much preferred her nightly dose of Katy Perry and Destiny's Child, and she preferred to be in a place where judgment went out the window, which it certainly did in their established haunts – there was no shame in Paradise in particular, just vomit, sweat, and desperate rugby lads. "Where are you from then?"

"Berkshire." She answered, registering the confusion on Delia's face. "Its one of the Home Counties. What about you?" She could tell she was Welsh, but not precisely where she was from.

"Must be posh." Delia said honestly. "I'm from Pembroke, but spiritually I feel like I'm from Cardiff, and deeply spiritually I feel like I'm from Chicago, but in the nineties." She slurred.

Patsy laughed, "Just in the nineties, then?"

"Yes." Delia nodded. "The musical innovation, the partying, absolutely unparalleled. What about you, where are you deeply spiritually from? Downton Abbey?" Patsy flushed a little – she knew she was posh, and she knew that it was blindingly obvious, but she'd just spent so much time with girls from her school and Trixie, and Barbara who would never say anything untoward, that she hadn't been made fun of for it yet. She tried her hardest not to be offended, but it was a little hurtful that it was coming from a girl who was so pretty, so unbelievably, untouchably cool. "I didn't mean to be rude, I was just joking."

"I know - it's fine." She sat down opposite her, wondering why she didn't just slink back to her room to watch Netflix while she drank her medicine and tried to fall back asleep, especially as Delia had made it quite clear that they were two very different people.

"You do medicine, don't you? I've seen you in lectures." She smiled, running a hand through her dark hair, the long chain around her neck swinging.

"Yeah, you as well?"

"Nah, I just turn up 'cause I feels like it." She ribbed. "Seriously though, its in my medical opinion that you're not very well."

Patsy chuckled, "I know. I couldn't go out tonight."

"Were you going to come and see Zed Bias?" Delia asked, her eyes lighting up. "You should have hit me up, I'm repping for Bunker, and it's much cheaper to buy from me."

Three weeks in and she'd already been pegged as cool enough to sell tickets for that place? Patsy felt unquestionably dorky in her presence, and especially dorky in her 'old-man' pajamas, as Trixie called them. "No, I was going to go out with Trixie and some other friends."

"Oh, well next time there's something good on I'll let you know. You can come with me, if it's not your friend's kind of thing." Delia said enthusiastically.

Patsy didn't know what implored her not to deny her offer, perhaps it was politeness, or perhaps it was not being able to resist the way the other girl's eyes had lit up, but she smiled. "That would be nice." She didn't know what she had gotten herself in for – she knew nothing about house or techno other than the people here who tended to go and listen to it smoked a lot of rollies and took a lot of drugs. But somehow she trusted Delia to keep her safe from being asked for a Rizla by someone with pupils like a saucepan, and she quite wanted to try meeting some new people, some different people unlike the ones she'd been surrounded with her whole life.

"Sweet. I can probably get you in for free, so if you don't like it you won't blame me for wasting your money." The other girl grinned, popping the last of her bagel into her mouth. "Now, I'm telling you to go to bed and get some sleep, future doctor's orders."

Patsy obliged, the other girl standing up, dusting the crumbs from her mouth and tossing her plate in their growing pile of washing up that would no doubt warrant another angry post-it soon enough. She head back to bed, clutching her mug between the paws of her dressing gown, and opening up her laptop only to find she'd received an invite on Facebook. She clicked on it – 'The Bunker welcomes/Dimitri from Paris' – and smiling, she pressed attending.


	2. Toast and Tickets

Patsy

Patsy wondered why it was utterly impossible for her to get a stitch of work done while she laid in bed. Was it really necessary for her brain only to cooperate when she was sitting at her desk? After all, what difference did it make? There was something about reclining that meant she was far more tempted by Buzzfeed than work. She didn't want to drag herself from her mattress though, as she was completely comfortable and still under the weather. She couldn't even bring herself to pop into the kitchen to boil the kettle and conjure up another balm for her throat, though her affliction was waning now. She seemed to have escaped the sentence that tonsillitis would have yielded, and was saddled with plain old flu. She'd missed her Tuesday morning lecture, though she supposed it wasn't the end of the world – she could ask someone for their notes and it was really better she stayed rested until this passed – she'd attempted lectures yesterday only to barely be able to concentrate – and she didn't need a medical degree to know that.

There was a knock at the door and she hoped it was Trixie, or Barbara, even Winifred or the quiet Cynthia she had yet to get to know – anyone for company. She felt imprisoned, and it was getting on her nerves. Honestly, by this point she was going absolutely stir crazy. And to make things worse, she'd finished Parks and Recreation so was onto bizarre documentaries about things she never even knew one would bother to make a documentary about. She called croakily for them to come in, and when her door swung open she saw Delia in the threshold. Of course, Delia, she hadn't even thought that she might be around. She always seemed to be busy, never really in – you could tell when she was because her music was always audible from the kitchen.

"You alright, mate?" She asked.

"Getting there." Patsy replied, only just realizing that the other girl had a tray clutched between her hands, her heart melting.

"I brought you some toast, if you could stomach it, and a cuppa." She explained, the question of her appetite answered as she shut her laptop and shoved it on her bedside table, eagerly accepting the offering.

"That's so kind, really. I'm starving." She affirmed, wondering why Delia had thought to bring her something to eat, in fact, wondering why she had been so nice full stop.

"Trixie mentioned you were still ill this morning. You don't need the notes from today, do you?" She inquired, taking a seat on her bed.

Patsy sighed with relief, "You're wonderful." She took a hesitant bite of her toast, wondering if her hunger would dissipate only to be replaced by sickness straight away, as it had done when she'd tried to eat earlier. It was good though, and she washed it down her sore throat with a sip of tea.

"I hope you'll be better by next week." Delia said. "I'm well excited."

Patsy nodded, clutching the tea between her hands. "Me too." She smiled, the warm drink offering her some relief. "Could you pass me those?" She pointed to the near empty pack of ibuprofen on her bedside table.

"I've got some more, if you run out. Just let me know if you need anything." The corner of Patsy's lips twitched in appreciation of the offer, and she popped two from the packet, washing them down, hoping they would kick in soon. "How's work been going?"

"Terribly."

"Well, we could always work on the anatomy assignment together, if you like. I could help you catch up." Delia suggested.

"That sounds good." Patsy bit her lip, not knowing why the other girl was extending such kindness to her when they had only properly spoken to each other a few nights ago. She supposed everyone was really nice to each other at the start of uni though, unless they were really stupid and determined to get some sort of reputation for being an arsehole, but Delia seemed completely genuine. She was really pretty too, Patsy thought. Her blue eyes seemed in a permanent state of animation, and her features were quite adorable, not to mention her effortless cool was something to behold. She internally shook her head – according to all that Trixie had said about her, she had an army of people, many of them boys, in and out of her room at all hours. Maybe she already had a friend with benefits, if she was into that kind of thing – it seemed to be all the rage at uni, sex with no strings, but Patsy still had to get the first bit out of the way before she thought about all that, and she wasn't sure if she could stomach it anyway. Maybe it would be for her – she did have trouble getting attached, and though she'd never been, attached that was, to anyone, and she did suspect that once she was she wouldn't want to let go.

She placed her tray to one side, only just then noticing that the plate, the mug, the knife were from an assortment of different people's drawers, and she smiled, finding Delia's cheekiness just a little endearing, and then knelt on her bed, trying to wrestle with the window beside it. Delia smirked at her for a few moments, and then leant across to help, prizing it open in no time. "The cold's not going to help you…and neither is that." She remarked, when she spotted Patsy grabbing for her pack of cigarettes.

"It's hardly a chest infection, and I'm absolutely gasping for a fag." She reasoned, holding the pack out to Delia, offering her one.

"Nah, I don't smoke." The way Trixie told it, the other girl partied wildly, hanging out with a group of people notorious for getting stoned and taking various questionable white powders regularly, but perhaps the other girl was just in it for the music, or perhaps she limited her vices to nights out.

"Never?" Patsy inquired.

Delia shrugged, "Oh, the odd one on a night out I suppose, but one minute you're drunk smoking, and the next it's social, and the next your forking out a fiver for baccy every few days. It's expensive, and I have an addictive personality."

"I suppose it is quite expensive." She took a drag, angling the smoke out of the window, watching the other girl's reaction and knowing that Delia was probably internally questioning her discussion of being able to afford cigarettes, fearful that she'd already labeled her an absolute toff. "I started at school, all the other girl's did it, and I haven't found it in me to stop." She explained.

"You'll stop when you find a reason to." Delia said astutely.

Her door flung open then, Trixie striding in, bike helmet under her arm and hair a little awry. "I swear I only wear this thing because I know my dad would have an aneurism if he saw me cycling without it, but it does absolutely nothing for my hair…Oh, hello, Delia. Come to check on Patsy too?" The blonde blinked in surprise, glancing between her and Delia, and then to the tray. "Beat me to it, you did. Right, budge up, I suspect you're dying for some more company."

She sat in between them, perching herself near the window like Patsy and lighting a cigarette of her own – she only smoked Marlboro's – and offered Delia one. "What it is it with smokers and trying to drag everyone else down with them?" She quipped.

"Delia doesn't smoke, I've already attempted to peer pressure her." Patsy said quickly, trying to repair the damage that Delia's constant irony may have done with the slightly more sensitive Trixie. She was beginning to learn that Delia was an expert at poking fun, but always utterly well intentioned.

"Well, do you want a drink then? I've got the mother of all Tesco shops in my rucksack." She smiled, and Patsy was impressed if a little surprised by Trixie's attempts to rub along with her next-door neighbor, considering they had got off on the wrong foot.

"Translation time. Delia, that means that Trixie's got probably about three bottles of Rosé in there and if we're lucky a big bottle of gin." Patsy ribbed.

"Alright, alright. It was on offer, okay. And none for you anyway, you're nowhere near well enough, or deserving, considering your abandonment of me outside the lecture block yesterday." Trixie huffed.

"Trixie, I was going to be late, and if I'd known Tom was going to ask you on a date I would have stayed, honest." She said.

"And risked Professor Evangelina's ritual punishment of latecomers? Now that's a true friend." Delia nodded.

"See." Patsy said.

Trixie folded her arms across her chest, cigarette clamped between her lips. She was having a bit of a dilemma about this Tom, and Patsy didn't know if she approved of it. Her friend so wanted to play the field, and she could see plainly that the wholesome Christian Union president wasn't entirely compatible with this blonde, man-obsessed party girl, but there had to be something between them for Trixie to even be the slightest bit conflicted by his interested in her, rather than the usually entirely dismissive attitude she adopted when on the receiving end of unwanted affections. Patsy sometimes wished she possessed her friend's assertiveness when it came to getting boys to back off, but usually by the time she realized they had been coming onto her, apparently they had been doing so for some time – be it Kevin who had seated himself next to her in practically every lecture since first week, or a random boy who she thought was just enjoying her dance moves so terrible that he probably thought she was being ironic in the club – and it was only when they made a blatantly obvious statement of their interest that she had to awkwardly and hurriedly run away from them. Kisses were easier to dodge than Kevin though, and she had taken to turning up to lectures with only seconds to spare – even if it meant hovering outside with a fag while everyone piled in – in order to grab a seat as far away from him and his fogged up glasses as possible. It was just, she was so unbelievably uninterested in men she seemed to have the inability to interpret their intrigue for her. Though she supposed she wouldn't know if a girl was coming onto her either, she would just be a whole lot less unenthusiastic about it once she realised.

"Are you coming to Lavinia's birthday drinks, Pats? Next Thursday?" Trixie asked.

"At Bunker?" Delia asked, and she could already tell she was about to ask if they all had tickets. Patsy couldn't help but smirk at the other girl's assumption that everyone's taste in music and clubbing was as sophisticated as her own.

Trixie frowned, "No, no, we were thinking Gino's for cocktails and then Voodoo's for the main event. What do you think, Pats?"

"Um, I'm going to Bunker that night." She caught the outrage crossing Trixie's features. "With…with Delia. She said that there's this really good DJ, like legendary or something."

Her friend frowned for a moment, "Well, I haven't been to Bunker yet." She reasoned.

"I could get you all tickets, if you can convince the rest of them. It's gonna be a cracker of a night." Delia said.

"As long as no one's doing cracker in the toilets."

"Crack, Trixie. It's called crack." Patsy sniggered. "And better than all the shagging that goes on in the toilets in Voodoo's."

Delia laughed too, "You can't do crack in the toilets anyway."

"Well fine, I'll talk to them about it." Trixie said. "I got added to the group chat the other day." She smiled proudly about her admission into possibly the most annoying source of notifications she'd ever encountered – and she remembered Bebo. Patsy didn't think they would be convinced, and in a small way she hoped they wouldn't be. She had rather been looking forward to spending the evening with just Delia, with meeting a new bunch of people away from her old friends. She wouldn't have minded just Trixie, and Babs if she decided to take the night of work, but all her old school friends were a bit of a headache. It was so easy, she thought, to just stick with what you knew when you were surrounded by it. She could only imagine that Delia would have had to have taken a real go get 'em attitude towards making friends here, and she had managed just fine, and Patsy cursed herself for only having stuck with the same group of people – not that they had given her much of a chance to branch out, their friendship conditional on frequent sessions of cocktail drinking. Still though, she didn't think it likely that she would come, and Lavinia would just have to accept that she'd made prior plans, no matter how much she attempted to guilt her about it.

"Sorry ladies, I'm gonna have to get to work now if I'm to justify the week I have ahead of me. I'll send you those lecture notes, Pats…and if you take tomorrow off too just message me and I'll send you some more – my number's under the plate." Delia stood up, smiling and heading off, and she lifted the plate, thumbing the piece of scrap paper from the tray. _Call for toast_ – it read. She bit her lip, smiling, quiet until Trixie snapped her out of her daze.

"She's alright, actually. And I suppose its good to know someone who can get you the VIP treatment somewhere, even if it's that grubby little club." Her friend considered. "And it was nice of her to check on you, I was worried you were all alone."

Patsy nodded in agreement, already punching Delia's number into her phone, copying from the little note. "Mhmm." She stubbed her cigarette out. "Yeah, it was." Really, it was though, and she struggled to think of why she had done it. Perhaps she was that much of a sweetheart, despite them not particularly being friends yet. She did seem to make an awful lot of effort, inviting her out, looking after her when she was ill, offering to get her friends tickets, especially as she was on another planet of hipness that Patsy couldn't even fathom. She wondered why the other girl even spoke to her, though she supposed people thought that about her, when they heard her accent, and whispered about the school she had been to, and she thought herself friendly enough, though somehow she always managed to come across aloof. Delia seemed to see through that though, or maybe even hadn't thought it in the first place.

"What?" Trixie's brow furrowed, as she glanced her up and down, smoke billowing from between her lips.

Patsy shook her head, "Nothing, just sleepy." She replied.


	3. Beer and Bouncers

A/N: Sorry it took a little while, but here it is. Appropriate vibes may be set with some classic house such like Dance by Earth People, or Ride on the Rhythm by Little Louie Vega & Marc Anthony. I found it really hard trying to capture a snapshot of clubbing in writing, and music helped - so perhaps it'll help to read with it to if you fancy.

* * *

Delia

Bunker was absolutely banging. It was probably the best night she'd ever had at uni, if she was honest. All her mates, and people she'd been constantly bumping into and meaning to catch up with, were here. She was the perfect level of intoxicated – not too drunk for her dancing to be embarrassingly hindered, but not too sober to give a shit what anyone thought of what she looked like. Dmitri had put on an unbelievable set, and now one of the best student DJs in the city was wrapping up for the last few hours. When she returned to the floor clutching a couple of tins of Bunker's cheapest brew, she shouldered her way through the crowd assertively, searching for her mate's dance patch, though not before Denny could snap a picture of her on his camera – the evening's photographer. She rolled her eyes at him and continued on, searching for a flash of red hair under strobe lighting.

She was glad she'd managed to get Patsy out, though she wasn't sure if this was really her scene. Maybe she preferred Voodoo's and the like, but then again, she had said she didn't really like those kind of places either. Perhaps it was that she didn't really like clubbing at all – lots of people didn't – but went along anyway because the fear of missing out was drummed into you immediately upon arrival. It was a common theme. It was fine though. It wasn't like going out on the town was the only way to get to know people – just perhaps the most alcoholically lubricated.

The other girl was an odd one, if she was honest. She really couldn't tell if she was as confident as she came across, or if that was masking something deeper. She wouldn't be the first person to hide her insecurities, especially in the first few weeks of term at a brand new university. But there was something about the pretty redhead that made Delia want to strip all of that back – or perhaps that was the sixth beer she was sipping at talking…and the seventh if she couldn't put her offering in the other girl's hands by the time she got through this. She admitted defeat at finding her around here – it really was a miracle this was the first time she'd lost her all night, given how packed it was. But then, she'd rather glued herself to Delia's side for the duration of the evening. Not one to leave a mate in the lurch, especially as Patsy didn't really know anyone here, she pulled out her phone and punched in a quick text.

 ** _01:16_** _Where u at? xx_

Reclining against a rather damp wall, her phone wasn't even back in the pocket of her jeans before it vibrated and the screen lit up.

 ** _01:17_** _Smoking area xoxo_

 ** _01:17_** _Dont move coming now xx_

She shoved the other can inside her jacket so the bouncer didn't have a go at her for bringing drinks outside and hastily downed the rest of her beer on her way to the stairs, ascending them into the chilly night air, giving the doorman a flash of the stamp on her arm as she passed through the threshold into the dingy alleyway that served as the rather paltry excuse of a smoking area. A quick glance around in the crowd on her tiptoes, and she spotted the girl she was looking for. She was leaning against brick, one hand thumbing a text into her phone, the other lifting a cigarette to her mouth. Delia grinned broadly – she really did have the prettiest, most expressive lips she'd ever seen.

"Hey, Pats." She chimed, holding the stowed away beer out to her. "Brought you a present."

"Oh, thanks. I was absolutely gasping for a drink." Patsy smiled and cracked it open, taking a sip of the barely chilled liquid and sighing with relief. "Shall we sit?"

"Just careful what you sit in." Delia joked, though in all seriousness she did check the ground for bodily fluids before sinking down next to the other girl, shoulder to shoulder. "What did you think then?"

Patsy nodded, halfway through another gulp of beer, and swallowed awkwardly before answering. "Really great." She paused for a moment, measuring Delia's skeptical reaction. "No, really. I did enjoy it. I didn't expect to."

She smiled, wanting to launch into a full breakdown of the legendary DJing their ears had just been graced with, but decided to save her enthusiasm for a friend it might not alienate. Besides, she had better things to talk about Patsy with, right? She could make decent conversation. "Trixie a no show then?" She questioned.

"Actually she messaged me a while ago. She's coming…at least I think she is. Her drunk texting is a special kind of prose." Patsy smirked. "I think she's bringing the girls." The way Patsy said that made her think she wasn't all too happy about anyone but Trixie coming along at this point. She thought that those girls were her friends – the ones who sometimes dropped by their block in a whirlwind of Hermes handbags and bottles of prosecco, who sat in their kitchen rating the rugby boys and launched into fully serious discussions about whether or not it was acceptable to settle for a rower because they got up so early morning sex was out of the question. Delia couldn't relate.

"You don't like them, do you?" She blurted out, regretting it immediately. The redhead didn't reply, instead she seemed to stare deep into her tin, looking neither offended at the insinuation or ready to jump to their defence. "Why do you hang out with them?"

Patsy shrugged, the length of their silence punctuated by the reverberating bass coming from below like the ticking of a clock. "Because I know them."

"But you can get to know new people at uni. You don't have to be the person you pretended to be at school." Delia continued, realising she'd touched upon a nerve when Patsy shifted away from her, and she cursed herself for running her drunk mouth. "If they don't know who you are now, then its probably too late for them to learn, if you've known them since you were a kid."

"I'm not pretending to be anything." She said sharply, lighting another cigarette, underling her discomfort. "Everyone thinks there must be something more to me, but honestly, it really is that I just am this boring."

Somehow Delia knew that she was lying. "I don't think you're boring." She assured her.

"You're supposed to say that." Patsy replied, standing up. Delia wondered if she was about to announce her departure, and she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She was too honest, she always said what she was thinking – far too often. And she had trouble telling when she'd overstepped the mark. Girls usually didn't mind that though – that she was clear about her feelings, her thoughts – but it didn't seem to be making Patsy very happy. Christ. She didn't know why she was thinking of her like that. It was a stupid road to go down, especially now when she'd just started to grow on her neighbours and was about to make perhaps her first ally on their corridor.

"Patsy!" They both glanced to the cause of the cacophony. Trixie was stumbling down the alley, her arms outstretched. "I found you! I found her. See, I told you I'd find her." She turned to the girls shouldering her, and Patsy reached out to hold her up.

"Trix, what happened?"

"She fell over, but she said she really wanted to come here." One of the girl's replied, and Delia stood as well, grabbing Trixie's other arm and steadying her. She had a grazed knee, but other than that didn't look too worse for wear. "Do you reckon we'll still get in? Trixie said something about some girl on your corridor…"

"Yeah, that's me. You'll get in…if you can keep her standing up straight in the queue." Delia said, gesturing to Trixie, whose legs seemed all in a tangle.

"I'm _fine_. See, I'm fine. Look." She yanked herself from the grip of Patsy and Delia and placed her hands on her hips, swaying a little bit but she would no likely sufficiently convince the bouncer she was capable of handling herself. "Oh my god, Josh! Hugo! _You're_ here?!" She descended into peals of laughter as two tall guys approached, and Delia could have sworn she saw Patsy grimace.

"Delia, shall we go inside while these lot queue?" The redhead said quickly, and Delia sensed her urgency, so she obliged, kind of happy that they'd get to spend a little more time together before the other's joined them.

They didn't bother going through the trouble of sifting through the crowd again to find Delia's mates. Or maybe it wasn't the effort of it that stopped them from searching for anyone but each other. She was endeared by Patsy's dancing – it was like she didn't quite know what to do with herself, even if she had all the competency one would need for dancing to the minimalist music the DJ was now playing. She reached for the other girl's hands and linked their fingers, guiding her in time to the music while she laughed shyly, urging her to just feel it. No one looked bad at dancing if they were enthusiastic enough – that's exactly how Delia got away with it. She didn't know if it was the music or the cracking vibes, but she felt a little hazier than she usually would with only six drinks under her belt – come on, the Welsh knew how to drink – and she didn't want to think that it could be Patsy. She wanted to keep telling herself she had absolutely no chance. Not because the other girl was out of her league – oh of course, she was absolutely stunning – but Delia didn't think in those terms. She was confident, and if she liked a girl she went for it, and she didn't usually worry about rejection so much. It was just, they were so different, and Patsy hung out with _those girls_ , Patsy had rugby boys throwing themselves at her feet – Trixie had banged on about it enough in the kitchen. Patsy probably had bigger fish to fry.

She could mull over things all she liked in this dingy club with deafening speakers and music vibrating all around them, but at the end of the day she was Delia Busby and she had absolutely no self-control. She was weak, and she was a little bit drunk, so it was a complete inevitability that she would take Patsy's hip and pull her closer, though not as much of an inevitability that the other girl would smirk shyly rather than ask her what the fuck she was doing, but that's how it happened anyway. It was under her hand that she felt Patsy's phone vibrate, and in the dim light she saw the redhead smile apologetically, dipping into her pocket and looking distraught at the sight. She shouted something over the music, but Delia couldn't hear her.

"What?" She yelled back over the speakers. Patsy held out her phone for Delia to read.

 ** _01: 47_** _im not in cos drank b doorman says no but i jfeel s fucking sick_

 ** _01: 48_** _omg why_

 ** _01: 51_** _patsy come upstair out in area the smoking bit_

 ** _02:06_** _what is life_

Delia couldn't help but laugh at the last one, and though she wished Trixie hadn't chosen this exact moment to announce herself as a drunk mess, she knew that an inebriated friend in need was perhaps the most important call to heed in the world. She didn't expect Patsy to extend her hand to her as she turned and head once again for the stairs, but she took it anyway, and though it probably would have been more insightful of her to let Patsy rush to her friend's aid while she fetched some water, she didn't want to let go of her hand.

It wasn't long before they spotted Trixie, leaning against the wall in nearly the same spot they left her. "Patsy." She groaned.

"Where are the others, Trix?" Pats bit her lip, sitting down next to her and wrapping her arm around her friend.

"Went inside. I told them to go in."

"And they listened?" Delia questioned out loud. She'd never leave a friend in this kind of state alone, and she was starting to wish they hadn't left Trixie with that group of people in the first place. More fool her for assuming that everyone cared about the safety of their mates.

"I'm gonna sleep." Trixie announced, leaning her head on Patsy's shoulder.

"No, no! Trixie, don't fall asleep. Trix…oh, for god's sake." She sighed, glancing down at the blonde head of hair that had found its home on her. "Great."

Delia snorted, "We'll let her have a little sit for a while and then try to get her home. She'll get cold if we stay out here much longer."

"She'll be up in no time, don't worry. She sobers surprisingly fast." Patsy explained. Delia pressed her hand to Trixie's skin to test the temperature, and she didn't seem too chilly, but she slipped off her jacket anyway and placed it over her shoulders. "Now you'll get cold." Delia shrugged, sitting down next to Patsy. "Come here." She said softly, her fingers closing around her wrist and pulling her a little closer until Delia obliged.

This wasn't how she expected things to go, being inches from her face while sitting on a cold concrete floor that was littered with suspect substances and fluids in a grotty alleyway. And it went without saying that the addition of a floppy, sleepy, and likely to vomit at any given moment Trixie, wasn't part of the picture either – not that she'd given it all that much thought until this evening, urging the idea out of her stupid head as best she could. But now it didn't seem so stupid, not as Patsy looked at her through heavily lidded eyes, her lashes fluttering down, her cheeks flushing, with every bit of the look on her face inviting her in, telling her that this was actually a good idea. So she reached for the side of her neck, and as Patsy jerked away she cursed internally that Trixie had chosen this exact moment to throw up. But when she glanced over the damage, she realized that the blonde was still peaceful on Patsy's shoulder, and that the redhead was glancing up at a friend of hers from earlier, her eyes absolutely brimming with panic.

"There she is. Thank god." The brunette said, clutching a glass of water and holding it out to an unresponsive Trixie for all the good it would do. "The queue at the bar was a joke. Here, come on babe, take a sip." She stooped down in front of them, and already uncomfortable three becoming an even more uncomfortable four.

"M'fine." Trixie muttered, struggling to her feet. "Look, I'm fine."

"There she is!" Josh from earlier stepped into the ever-growing group of people and Delia glanced to Patsy, who was staring at her knees. "Alive and kicking. Oh, hey, Patsy babes."

"I'm gonna go home." Patsy said hastily.

"Aww, no. Let me walk you then." Josh suggested. Though Delia wouldn't usually oppose the fact that it was just generally better if you had a guy friend walk you home for you know, that whole thing called staying alive, she didn't quite like the way he said it. And it wasn't because she was jealous or anything, it just felt off.

"No thanks." She replied, to Delia's relief.

"Oh, come on, Patsy-"

"I said no." She said, harshly this time, turning away and heading down the alleyway. Delia faltered for a moment before chasing after her.

"Patsy…Pats…Hey, I'll walk you then." She suggested softly.

She sighed gently, and her toned softened enough for her to know that she wasn't annoyed at her, but she could still tell she wanted to be left alone, "It's fine, Delia. Really. You stay and have fun – keep an eye on Trix for me."

Delia's heart sank – was it something she'd done? Maybe she shouldn't have tried to kiss her. It was a stupid idea, and Patsy was probably regretting even thinking about doing it. "Alright, just…text me when you get home, yeah?"

"Sure."


	4. Plato and Noodles

Barbara

Unless Trixie and Patsy had both been suffering from hangovers for five days, she couldn't for the life of her figure out where her friends had gone. She'd barely seen them this week since their big night out, while she had been holed up with her head alternating between the English and Greek versions of Republic until she'd ended up with a neck ache and about three hundred words of absolute tosh.

It had sounded like a bit too big of a night for her though, if she was completely honest. She didn't mind the odd trip to Voodoo's or Paradise with Trix and Patsy, but she couldn't handle it more than once a week and she didn't really drink that much – and one had to in order to make those places even halfway bearable. While Delia seemed to be pitching things from the point of view of 'the music's gonna be absolutely cracking' and Trixie going to the birthday drinks of someone she didn't know that well – and frankly she found that group of girls from Patsy's school a little intimidating without the redhead intermittently drawing her back into the conversation – it seemed best that she'd just stayed in and worked on her essay, which was now nearly ready to send.

She clutched a mug of tea at the kitchen table in one hand, scrolling through the document and trying to cut her word count down. She always had far too many feelings about her subject and had been told off about her excessive essays, her professor saying that she didn't have enough time to read anything that wasn't around two thousand words. She might ask Winifred to look over it – she was always happy to help, but then it often involved an invite to the Christian Union meetings tagged on the end of whatever reasonable advice she had to give. She had been to a few, but they usually clashed with whatever plans Trixie had made for them all, and since it was her first year she told herself that making friends was important, that her dad wouldn't begrudge her that. Though really, she knew he would – if he ever met Trixie and Patsy, that was.

The door swung open behind her and Patsy walked in, kit slung over her shoulder and face flushed from cycling back in the cold. She didn't notice Barbara as she produced an empty water bottle and filled it up at the sink, taking big gulps and her eyebrows rising as she caught sight of her at the table. She gasped when she stopped drinking, "Ugh. I was so thirsty, sorry Babs." She panted.

"Fencing?" She inquired, as she caught sight of the long, thin bag she'd dumped on the floor.

"Yeah." She slipped into a chair opposite her, still nursing her water. "My legs are on fire. I thought I wasn't gonna make it home."

"Who set your loins alight, Patsy?" She whipped around to see Trixie glide in, dressing gown wrapped around her and a smirk painted on her face. "Have we finally got lucky?"

"Oh just Gertrude, the instructor. Six foot tall with the legs of an oxen - about fifty years old too. Absolutely gorgeous, just my type." Patsy retorted, grabbing a biscuit from the pack on the table and dipping it in Barbara's tea with an apologetic smile.

Trixie laughed on her way to the kettle and shrugged, "Well, if you swing that way."

Patsy just rolled her eyes and chewed thoughtfully on her biscuit, flipping the subject, "I haven't seen you in ages, Babs. What's been going on in your world?"

"Oh, not much. Just Plato and the history of Christianity. Completely inconsequential to the world we live in today, naturally, and not food for any deep thought at all." She replied. "I've been hoping to get us all together. We haven't debriefed yet."

"Shit, yeah, we haven't." Trixie swiped her steaming mug off the side and joined them around the dining table. "Right, I'll start." She launched into what was no doubt going to be a thrilling tale. "Got a bit too mashed at cocktails, and they wouldn't let me into Bunker for like, absolutely ages. Patsy went home early because as usual she's flakier than Kieran Gunner's hair, and apparently she got all pissy because Josh was hitting on her."

Patsy folded her arms across her chest, huffing, "I did not get pissy, Trixie. You were too drunk to notice what I said anyway. And he wasn't hitting on me; he wanted to walk me home. I was tired and I fancied the walk alone."

"Okay, firstly – you never notice when anyone's hitting on you anyway, so trust me on this one, he was definitely going for it. And Hannah said you got like, really angry at him and you were being really weird."

"What else did Hannah say?" Patsy bit her lip, looking nervous at Trixie's potential reply, and Barbara made a mental note to ask for her version of events if she couldn't get a word in edgeways here, maybe later when she caught her on her own.

"I don't know, just that you seemed in a bad mood." She shrugged. "And seriously, Babs, if Josh Thompson tried to walk you home, he'd definitely be wanting to shag you, right?" Trixie put her on the spot, turning to her and urging her to answer.

She faltered for a second, wanting to side with Patsy on this one because the other girl looked terribly uncomfortable, and never one to not say what she thought, she didn't want her to get mad at Trixie. But unfortunately, she had to agree with the blonde here. She'd met the boy, and he was nothing if unsubtle, particularly with Patsy. "Probably." She relented.

"See. He wanted to shag you. You should have just gone for it, but that's a conversation we're saving for another time." Barbara didn't think Trixie could exasperate Patsy anymore than she already had done, so she quickly pressed on for later details of the night. "Yeah, yeah, I'm getting there. Then I went home with Hugo, who's like totally gorgeous. Like his body, it's a blessing. It's a spiritual experience. Sadly, he wasn't that good in bed, but after he gave me some coke so-"

"Wait, Trixie, what?" Patsy interrupted, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline.

"Did you just say-"

" _Trixie_." The redhead pressed.

She shrugged, blowing on her tea. "It's not a big deal."

"But that's illegal, Trix." Barbara bit her lip.

Trixie rolled her eyes into the back of her head, "God, you guys are such prudes. It was just for a laugh."

"It's not that I don't agree with it or anything, but last week you didn't know crack from coke and now all of a sudden you're doing it." Patsy argued, while Barbara struggled to comprehend what she'd just heard. She knew that her friends were leaps and bounds ahead of her in confidence, and they had different ideas of fun to her which mostly included going out and drinking and being really social in general, but she cared about them. Sometimes their intensity worried her a little bit, when they got too drunk or flippantly walked home alone, but this was hard to fathom. She wondered if she should tell Cynthia – she was close to Trixie, they'd gone to the same school together. Although so very different, she always listened to the quieter girl. "Trix, you've just got to think more about what you're doing when you go out. Besides, I thought you were dating Tom."

Trixie didn't look as if she was taken to being told off very well, and she lit a cigarette. They really weren't supposed to smoke inside, but all the fire alarms were heat sensitive, not smoke sensitive – otherwise they'd be huddled outside in their pajamas at eight every morning the amount of toast everyone in their building managed to burn – but she didn't doubt the other girls wouldn't appreciate her lack of concern for the state of their communal areas. Delia probably wouldn't mind though, she was really laid back. "We're not exclusive. He needs to get his act together and decide if he actually wants me first. I'm not tying myself down to someone who can't make their mind up about me."

"Fair enough." Patsy nodded, reaching to take the cigarette from Trixie's hand and drawing on it, pouting at the face of protest she pulled. "Give me a break, I've been really healthy today. I feel like I might die of heat exhaustion."

"And fags are going to help with that, are they?" She quipped. "I'm thinking of getting an e-cig anyway. Like a cherry flavoured one or something."

"That's so you." Barbara smirked, while Patsy sighed and gave into the flush in her cheeks, shrugging off her hoodie and peeling off her workout vest, reclining in her sports bra.

"Great look, Pats. Very sexy." Trixie chuckled.

"Who's sexy?"

Trixie tossed her cigarette into her teacup, terrified it was Winifred come to have a go at them, and then sighed in relief when she realised it was only Delia, come to make a late dinner. "Shit, that's two indulgences down in one fowl swoop. And I was just saying I think this might be Patsy's best look yet."

Delia didn't say anything, just laughed weakly, and Patsy seemed to crumble under the gentle and jokey scrutiny of the situation, which was uncharacteristic of her. She could usually take a joke, and was well used to Trixie's banter, if not a master at throwing some back at her.

"What are you up to, Delia?" Trixie asked, seeming a lot fonder of her than she first had. Perhaps it was their night out together – it must have done some good and cleared some awkwardness between them, though apparently not between Pats and the small brunette. It was a shame really; she thought they had been getting on well last week.

"Bagel and Super Noodles, food of the kings." She replied, opening a cupboard.

"You couldn't burn something could you? To cover this." She wafted her hands around the smoke still hanging in the air.

Delia smiled sympathetically. "Not even I could burn this dinner. Besides, a girl's gotta eat. You can blame it on me if you like though." She offered.

"Oh, Delia! You can join our belated debrief." Barbara smiled. "Though I'm uninvolved, I'm rather invested at this point. Sounds like it was a great night."

She laughed, flicking on the kettle. "Sure, though I witnessed most of Trixie's fall from grace."

"Shh, you." Trixie rolled her eyes. "Who was that girl you went home with then?" She teased.

That certainly piqued Barbara's interest. She didn't know that Delia was into girls, though she supposed she just never assumed she would be, which was pretty bad if she was honest to herself. Not everyone liked guys, and she herself found most of the ones she had met at uni pretty unappealing. Patsy looked up too, gazing at Delia expectantly while the Welsh girl uncharacteristically seemed to falter under the gaze of everyone, looking like she was thinking carefully about answering.

"She's just a mate. She's called Rose." She answered, busying herself by pouring water over her instant noodles.

"Oh come on, that's not what it looked like. Tell all – those are the rules of debrief." Trixie urged her, and the other girl was trapped now, halfway through making her dinner and subject to Trixie's warpath of finding out exactly who was screwing who across the university. No one escaped it.

"Really, we just went back and listened to some music. She lives closer to Bunker so it was better than walking home on my own." Delia insisted.

Trixe laughed, "Yeah, right. Whatever you say, Delia." She clearly wasn't convinced, but Barbara thought that Delia had displayed well enough that she held up under interrogation and wasn't going to say anymore about it – at least not here – so rather surprisingly, Trixie let it go.

"I'm going to take a shower." Patsy announced, standing up and nearly tripping on her kitbag on the way out, scooping it up in her arms clumsily and heading to her room. Her footsteps echoed and her door closed behind her, filling the silence that hung in the room.

Barbara wondered what was up with her, and she realised that she hadn't exactly taken part in the debrief, hadn't relayed the events of her night to Trixie and her. Maybe something had happened, maybe that Josh boy had been worse to her than just pressing her to let him walk her home, or maybe she was just stressed about work. Delia went quiet too, and Trixie piped up. "Exercise always makes Patsy grumpy. I don't know why she does it."

Somehow Barbara didn't think it was the exercise, and later when Trixie had head to her room to do some reading, and she had chatted to Delia over her dinner while occasionally shortening a sentence here and there from her essay, she slipped into Patsy's room. She found her, textbook open under her desk lamp, clad in leggings and her leaver's jumper.

"You alright, Patsy?"

"Mhmm." She looked up with a smile.

"I brought you some tea." Barbara offered. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Patsy accepted the tea and spun around in her chair, Barbara taking a seat on the corner of her bed. "Thanks. Might keep me up long enough to finish this." She paused for a moment. "Talk about what?" She feigned misunderstanding, but Barbara saw that well enough.

"You seemed a bit off."

"Did I?"

"Yeah."

Patsy never really talked about how she felt. Well, that wasn't true. If she was annoyed she was clear enough about why, but that was a good thing in a lot of ways. One always knew where they stood with her, and she seemed to temper her honesty with Barbara, with people who she knew were a little more sensitive. But that was only ever really with surface level stuff – she realised she never really knew what was going on with her, even when she couldn't hide that something was wrong. "I'm just tired. And I completely forgot I had this assignment and it's due tomorrow." She knew that was her cue to leave.

"Oh, I'll let you get to it then." She said graciously. "I think Delia was finishing the same thing yesterday, I spoke to her about it – something about immunity?"

"That's the one." Patsy nodded.

"I'm sure she'll send it to you if you ask her." Barbara suggested helpfully, knowing that Delia had been really good to Patsy when she'd been ill, and that the redhead had sent her a few things when she'd missed lectures.

She turned back to her desk. "Uh…yeah, sure. Night, Babs."

Something was clearly going on with Patsy, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was. She returned to the kitchen to polish off her essay, resolving to quiz Trixie, or maybe even Delia on it, and made a mental note to have a little chat with Cynthia about her old school friend later. It seemed like she hadn't missed the 'best night out ever', which was how it had been pitched to her, but one where more than a few things had gone terribly wrong.

There was a post-it note in Winifred's handwriting stuck to the table when she sat down, and she grimaced, peeling it off.

 **Please refrain from** ** _smoking_** **in the kitchen!**

Oh god. Not again.


	5. Crop-tops and Textbooks

A/N: It's a welcome back from a one Miss Patsy Mount! Hope you enjoy her POV, and the slow burn of this undertaking of mine.

* * *

Patsy

Patsy Mount was so comprehensively an idiot that she surprised herself sometimes.

Her devotion to idiocy could genuinely be something to be proud of, in fact currently it was her most prominent quality, and such had it developed and grown that she was now basking in its wonderful, irresistible glow almost every minute of the day. Trying to make her assignments look like something halfway decent. _Idiot._ Constantly letting her friends – though now she referred to them internally and externally as 'the girls she went to school with' – force her to go her out. _You bloody idiot._ Thinking of nothing else but Delia Busby, and how she had nearly kissed her – if she'd ever been really intending to, because such an notion was equal parts ridiculous and unbelievably flattering – and how probably not but an hour later had gone home with someone else because she'd messed everything up. She'd messed it all up so badly.

 _You complete and utter, cowardly, A-grade, useless idiot._

And now she was lying in bed, thinking about it all over again. She supposed that wasn't idiotic – the lying in bed part – as it was seven in the morning and she didn't have lectures until ten. But the thinking about it…thinking never got her anywhere, at least not when it was about this kind of thing. She turned things over in her mind time and time again, agonizing over every detail of her stupidity in whatever latest thing she had done wrong. Perhaps it was because she didn't do things wrong most of the time. She had her head screwed on, she was sensible, and she towed the line well enough, though always asserted herself when the situation called for it. But this – it had her stuck.

It wasn't like she hadn't liked girls before. It wasn't like she wasn't drawn in and tempted when she was at school. It wasn't like someone she'd gotten just a smattering of hope from hadn't run off with a boyfriend into the distance. But this was different. No girl had ever tried to kiss her – if of course, Delia had been about to, because she didn't want to quite let herself believe it. Though given the way she had jumped away from her the moment she had caught sight of her friend – some girl she went to school with, rather – she would say that she should trust her instinct and her memory, hazy as it was. If anything she was a little hurt that Delia had been so quick to find someone else to enjoy the evening with, even though she shouldn't be. She couldn't blame her – after all, she had been _so_ fucking weird about it.

She had to run off in a panic, didn't she? She had to quite literally remove herself from a situation that was threatening to make her boil over like she did every single time. Though, she supposed, it would have hardly been endearing for Delia to see her like that. She would have probably ended up upsetting her, acting out, pushing her away, if she'd stayed for one moment longer. It could have been so much worse if she hadn't shielded Delia from the impending mess she was about to become. But it would have been so much better if she could have just _dealt_ with it in the first place.

But Patsy mount was so comprehensively not able to deal with any deep level shit that she surprised herself sometimes.

And this was deep.

That Latin teacher. Mary Mother of God, that Latin teacher. She was awful at Latin. Absolutely abysmal. She used to act up in the classes she didn't enjoy, but not with Miss Johnson, never with her. Nunc scio quid sit amor, Miss Johnson. _Lesbian._ Jane MacKintosh. She was from Canada, an international student who boarded with the other sixth-formers, the older sister by a few years of her roommate when she was in Year Nine. She was the reason she started fencing, just to chat to her because she was friendly and didn't patronize her because she was younger like the other girls, not really buying into the traditions of their school to be vile to the little ones. She was amazing. _You colossal lesbian._ And Delia Busby. Jesus Christ. Delia's lips, her hair. She was so relaxed about everything, so friendly, so forthcoming – she was everything Patsy wasn't. That smirk she pulled when she was taking the piss out of her that reassured Patsy she was only kidding, she wanted to kiss it right off her lips. She could have, if she'd not been so afraid of someone who knew her friend's sister's cleaner's third-cousin-twice-removed finding out and telling everyone.

 _You complete and utter raging, hormonal, closet-case lesbian._

Delia didn't want her though, that much was clear. Patsy had been avoiding her for the past week, and Delia had been staying out of her way too. It wasn't surprising that the other girl didn't want to speak to her after how she had acted – jumping away from her like she'd done something wrong. All the other girl had done was get a bit close to her face – so not a big deal. Okay, it was. It was the biggest deal ever, but that was beside the point. Fine. The closeness of their faces was entirely the point. And then she'd been a petulant child because Delia had better things to do. Better _girls_ to do.

Perhaps it was for the best – Delia clearly had intentions for her evening, and going home with someone was obviously a part of that plan. She would have been an utter disappointment, or like Trixie said, flakier than the hair of whatever Physics studying boy had got under her skin that day. In fact, she was sure she wouldn't have been able to go through with it, that she would have backed out. She wouldn't have had the faintest idea of where to put her hands. Okay, so she would, because she had ogled her enough that night at Bunker – she couldn't deny that. But she was sure that they wouldn't do what her brain told her anyway, and she was equally sure that her brain wouldn't be functioning at a level that would put her in the class of intelligent life. She had all but lost her mind when Delia had only held her neck, realising that she was probably the world's worst kisser, and that the other girl was probably – no, undoubtedly – amazing. She was perfectly willing to have her suspicions about Delia's prowess confirmed at the expense of her dignity in that moment though, Trixie sleeping on her shoulder be damned, if only 'a girl she went to school with' hadn't walked up those bloody stairs.

She wasn't one to lie in bed all morning though, and maybe getting out of her blankets and into some clothes would clear her head. So she gathered her wash bag and slipped on her dressing gown, heading for the shower. Turned out that it didn't, that nothing would. She wished now that she had just let Delia kiss her, that she'd kissed her back. What was really standing in her way? The judgment of people she used to know, people she didn't even care about anymore? There was Trixie though, and Barbara. She felt like whilst she couldn't blame herself for living a lie with her old friends, given her age, given the environment, she felt like she was being dishonest with her new friends, and now it was too late. There was something that had to be amended now, and it wasn't just a little thing. So much of what they thought and assumed about her just wasn't true, and it was all because of this.

When she stepped out of the shower, she barely felt any fresher than before – in fact her mind was still completely buzzing, and she gave her hair a quick rub with a towel as if to try and unscramble her thoughts, wrapping it up and covering herself again. She hadn't quite reached Delia Busby levels of public undress, and it wasn't as if she wasn't used to it from school and everything, and it wasn't like Trixie and her didn't get ready for every night out by changing outfits a few times before settling on something, but Delia took it pretty far.

Almost on cue she bumped into her in the hallway, sighing internally, the other girl clearly having the same idea as her. They had a lot more lectures than the others and they usually started earlier in the day – before Bunker they'd spent a lot of time chatting in the kitchen over breakfast, cycling to lectures together, Delia grabbing a coffee and her a cigarette in the breaks between them. But now they were keeping their distance, and it was difficult when they lived so close. Not that Delia didn't seem to have a wealth of other people to sit with – she seemed to know everyone on the course, or at least could endear them to her in the minutes they had to chat before the lecture began. Patsy didn't know how she did it.

"Sorry." Delia muttered as she moved past her.

"It's fine." She said quickly, averting her eyes to the floor, at all costs trying to avoid setting her gaze on Delia's crop-top wearing tendencies. "It's a bit…the floor is wet. Be careful."

 _Oh my god, you've got actual, deep-seated Problems._

Well, she knew that well enough. She had plenty of those to go around. But why on earth she thought making conversation with Delia was a good idea, she had no idea. It was like she couldn't stop herself from saying or doing stupid things around her, when usually she had such a handle on everything – until she didn't, that was.

Delia laughed gently, perhaps at the awkwardness of it all, "Cheers. Hey, you don't have a copy of Davidson's Principles do you? They were all gone from the library, and it's so expensive."

"Oh, yeah. I do." Patsy nodded, clinging to the lapels of her dressing gown. "I'll be in my room – you can come get it after you shower."

"Cool." She paused for a moment, "I've been meaning to talk to you as well."

Something deep inside of Patsy's stomach twisted. She hated it when people tried to talk to her, but even worse was when they told her they were going to, so she could think of nothing else. It was frustrating; it had a tendency to make her agitated, defensive, and most certainly not her best self. But that was what happened when she couldn't keep it together, people asked her what was wrong, because they were kind, because they cared. It was the case though, that she completely lacked the ability to articulate herself, and the obvious solution was to just stop making an utter prat of herself so that one asked her to. She couldn't bear to think what it was that Delia wanted to talk about, that made her feel even sicker.

Busying herself by getting changed and drying her hair in front of the mirror took up about ten minutes of time she could have been thinking about what Delia wanted. Then she decided to pack her bag for lectures later. Then tidy her desk. Then make her bed. _Fuck_. Now she was loosing her shit. She told herself to hold it together – she just wanted a book, and maybe she wanted to talk about work, something on one of the handouts she didn't understand, or help deciding which essay title was easier. It was probably that, right? She couldn't want to talk about Bunker – really, there was nothing to talk about. Patsy had been an idiot and they both knew it, Delia had been perfectly justified in replacing her with someone else that evening, though she still found a little difficult not to be bitter. But just because she was so damn far in the closet she'd made friends with Mr. Tumnus, didn't mean everyone else had to be the same.

"Come in." She called out, grabbing the book off her shelf, standing on the spot for a moment before realising she looked absolutely ridiculous. She sat down on her bed, the textbook in her lap, thumbing the pages of it idly.

"Hey." Delia smiled as she stepped inside, but not her usual ear-to-ear grin that made her eyes glow bluer and her whole face light up. "Thanks for this, by the way." She didn't falter as she sat down next to her, as Patsy would have, and closed her hands around the hefty text book.

"It's no problem at all." Patsy said hurriedly, averting her eyes from Delia's gaze.

The other girl paused for a moment, drumming her fingers against the surface of the textbook before making a noise of exasperation. "We should talk about the other night, Pats."

"Okay." She replied weakly, her voice sounding unlike her own, and she hated it. She hated that Delia did this to her, that she made her so nervous, so not herself. But she didn't hate Delia, and she didn't know why.

She laughed then, distracting herself for a moment by piling her damp hair on top of her head in a bun, "There's no need to sound like your going before the Spanish Inquisition. Am I really that bad?" Patsy didn't say anything, and Delia seemed to sense she couldn't. "Alright, let's clear a few things up. What Trixie said in the kitchen the other day, I know what it sounded like. Rose is really just a friend and-"

"It's fine, Delia. It doesn't bother me if you went home with that girl." _Liar._

Her dishonesty was transparent, and Delia sighed gently. "It bothers me if you think it though." She stuffed a few strands of hair into her bun, and Patsy lit a cigarette, equally trying to find something to do with her hands. "I don't want you thinking that because I was gonna kiss you and it didn't happen, that I was trying to get you back in some way. Or that I was just going out to get with someone and didn't care who." Patsy managed to drag her eyes up to meet the other girl's, taking in the gentleness of her features, the ease with which she explained herself – and feeling the implications of her words. "I wasn't just looking for someone nameless and faceless, I liked you."

She drew on her cigarette deeply, drawing smoke into her lungs and pushing it out again – an ironic way to regulate one's breathing, but effective nonetheless. Why was Delia saying this? It didn't make her feel any better – it was flattering, of course – but it made her realise exactly what she'd fucked up. A girl had liked her and she had run away. How many times was she going to do that?

"You did?"

Delia nodded, "Yeah, of course." She replied, knitting her brow as if Patsy's doubt was unfounded. "How come you ran off? Did I do something wrong? I would hate to-"

"No!" Patsy blurted out. God, Delia had done everything right. She'd never had anyone, never _let_ anyone, make her feel like that in her life. "I just…that girl, who came up the stairs, I know her. I haven't…its just-"

"No one knows." Delia said gently, and Patsy nodded in confirmation. "That's fine, Patsy. That's perfectly legitimate." She wasn't going to make fun of her then? No. Apparently she was going to hold her hand, apparently she was going to rub the back of it with her thumb. Fuck. "Perhaps the Bunker alleyway isn't the ideal place to come out."

Patsy managed a laugh at that. "No, not really."

"I'm glad we talked about this." Delia stated.

"Yeah, me too." She said honestly, feeling as if a weight had left her shoulders. Delia didn't think she was an absolute tool, and she hadn't slept with that girl.

"Can we go back to cycling to lectures together then? And I got a 2:2 on that pathology report, so I'm sorry but I'm making you work with me again." She smirked.

"Yeah, we can." Patsy smiled. "And I got a 2:2 as well, so maybe we could just encourage mediocrity in each other instead?"

Delia looked shocked at that, "Well if Patsy I-Get-Firsts-In-Everything Mount got a 2:2, then it must have been that pissy Dr Tam being a prick again. But please, by all means, help me to justify my laziness sometime."

She was glad they were back to chatting normally, and as she bid Delia goodbye; it felt as if the world was right again. She had said that she could talk to her anytime about the tiny, inconsequential, totally-not-a-big-deal lesbian thing. And though she probably wouldn't, it was nice of her to have offered. All the air that had been cleared and everything could go back to how it was before – it was just a silly misunderstanding and some fear-based ridiculousness on her part. Delia understood, and wasn't going to hold it against her.

 _She didn't say she didn't still like you._

Shit.

 _Don't you dare, Patience Mount. Don't you fucking dare…_

Oh god. What if she still did? What if that was what she was trying to say? Surely not. She shouldn't be so ridiculous. Delia had referred to the whole affair in the past tense – she probably meant she liked her that evening, because they were drunk, because they were at a club, because it would have been fun. How was she going to cycle to lectures and sit together and talk in the breaks and lay on the floor of her room with their books and pens sprawled everywhere now? There was no way she could manage all that with this slight, ridiculously-small, out of the question possibility hanging over her. But she would, because even if she didn't want to admit it – she liked her back. She wasn't going to be able to stay away from her, that was certain.


	6. Spandau and Smokes

A/N: I hope everyone likes Spandau Ballet as much as Delia does. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Delia

The cold was getting bitterer by the day, and it sunk deep into her bones. She held the fingers of her gloves between her teeth, tugging them off, numb hands grappling with her bike lock. She rubbed them together when she stepped inside, stuffing the gloves in her coat pocket and heading up to their floor, booted footsteps echoing all the way. Usually she bumped into someone from one of the other floors, but it was that time of day when most people had got home from lectures and holed themselves up to work, or had head out for their extra-curriculars. Delia hated going all day without seeing people she knew, it was far too monotonous. It had been one of those days though, unfortunately – a necessary six hours in the library and not much else. So she was thankful when she heard chatting in the kitchen, and quickly dumped her bag and coat in her room. Finally, she could converse with someone other than the librarian berating her for her tendency to rack up impressive fines.

"Trixie, it's only because Barbara cares about you that she-"

"It's none of your business, it's none of anyone's business, Cynthia."

Delia faltered in the hallway, the tension in the voices she heard blatantly obvious.

"But are you getting your uni work done?"

"Of course I am. I'm doing fine. It's not a problem, and it's not a big deal. I wish you wouldn't keep bloody going on about it."

After a few moments consideration, she decided to leave Trixie and Cynthia to whatever they were talking about. It didn't seem like it was a conversation to be intruded upon, and however much she wanted a toasted bagel – it could wait. She'd got to know Trixie a bit now, and she seemed to have a handle on everything in a lot of ways. She was extraordinarily bright, and really good at her subject. When you caught her at the right moment she could talk about art history for an age in the most engaging way. As far as she knew she kept up with her work, despite going out all the time. She couldn't help but have an underlying sense of worry for her though, for the way she put herself at risk on what seemed like every night out and then brushed it off in the morning like it was nothing. In Delia's experience, no one did that without a reason – a reason that was usually a little dark. She supposed it wasn't her business though, and she didn't know her well enough to get involved in whatever Cynthia was trying to do or say.

She was unpacking the contents of her rucksack onto her desk when she remembered she still had Patsy's copy of Davidson's Principles. She always borrowed things and forgot to give them back for ages – she was murder for it. But she didn't need an excuse to wander over to the other girl's room, textbook under her arm and hoping desperately that she was in so she'd get a chance to talk to her.

Things really had gone back to normal, and she was beyond glad of it. In fact, they were better than normal. Even outside of what they could pretend was necessary, like going to lectures together, getting lunch in between, and helping each other with assignments, they spent most evenings they didn't have something planned in each other's company. Of course, a lot of the time Trixie and Babs, sometimes Cynthia as well, were there too. That didn't bother her though – she enjoyed seeing Patsy so laid back, full of razor sharp wit, usually directed at Trixie. When they were alone together she was a little shyer, and she was struggling to figure out why.

Perhaps she was just one of those people that found group situations easier – she had such an air of confidence about her around others she almost seemed infallible, but Delia knew all too well that wasn't the case. When it was just they two, she seemed to falter a little. Maybe she didn't like the scrutiny, maybe it was because she couldn't hide. Or maybe, Delia was forced to consider, it was because she felt the same way back. Okay, who the fuck was she kidding – she knew Patsy fancied the shit out of her. And she didn't deny that she had a thing for her too – it wasn't her way to not embrace her crushes, however fervent this one was. And despite the fact she had absolutely no restraint, she tried to temper herself around the other girl, just as much as she could, because Patsy seemed like she could do with that. She couldn't help it though, and who could blame her? She had the snappiest of comebacks that could send an entire room descending into laughter, she was scarily smart and had no idea how obvious it was – or attractive, for that matter – and of course, she was unfairly gorgeous. It was quite frustrating sometimes, living so close to her.

She didn't knock, just tried her door handle. As luck would have it she was in and not fencing – she wouldn't admit it, but she actually knew what days of the week Patsy fenced. It wasn't like she was a stalker or anything, the other girl just mentioned it quite a bit and she hung off every word that came out of her mouth. Her top half was in her wardrobe, and Delia bit back the closet joke that was on the tip of her tongue. It would be a little insensitive given she was the first person she'd actually come out to, so she settled for, "What the fuck are you doing, Patsy?"

"Um…it doesn't matter." She replied, the thumping of things being jostled apparent.

Intrigued, Delia moved closer, and frowned at Patsy's predicament. She was attempting to prize a large box that was lodged in the back of her wardrobe. Patsy's room was always unbelievably tidy, to the point where it was almost unnatural. No uni student's room should look like a show-home. So she was surprised, though felt rather a pang of solidarity, that she wasn't the only one that still hadn't actually fully unpacked this far into term. "Here, let me give you a hand."

"No, it's fine, really-" Delia pressed the textbook into Patsy's arms.

"I'm smaller I'll be able to get my arm behind it." She insisted, doing just that and yanking it out. "God, that's heavy. What the hell's in there?"

"Just some random stuff." Patsy paused for a few moments, sensing Delia's curiosity and appearing as if she was having a long hard think about something or another. Or maybe she was just being awkward again. "Like…um, records and-"

"Records?" Delia's eyes widened, though somehow she thought she ought to get Patsy's consent before she lifted the lid from the box, so she did with a nod from the other girl, and delighted at the contents. There were a good ten LP's in there, stacked up against the side, with room for a few other bits and bobs. Some ancient looking perfume, an envelope of what appeared to be filled with photos, an old jewelry box. "Why didn't you tell me you had these? You know I have a record player."

"I just…I don't know." Patsy shrugged, as Delia inspected the album covers.

"Oh my god." Delia thought she might die. She thought she might die right on the spot. "Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Lionel Richie, _KC and the Sunshine Band!_ Where did you get these?"

Patsy laughed at her utter marvel, and then bit her lip, quiet for a few moments, "They were my mum's, from when she was at uni."

"Okay, your mum is the coolest." Delia enthused, holding up Chaka Khan's face next to her own to prove her point. "Have you got a record player at home then?" She wondered why Patsy had brought them if she had nothing to listen to them on.

"I don't really live…well…No, I don't." Patsy seemed to settle on the short version of whatever she was going to say.

"Have you ever listened to them?" Delia asked.

She turned away from her, placing the textbook back on the shelf, "No. Well, I've listened to the albums on my laptop and stuff, but I've never played the records."

"You should have asked to borrow my turntable." Delia wondered why she hadn't – she knew well enough it was there. In fact, she really liked it, always asking if she could choose a record and put it on. Maybe she was going to decorate her walls with the album art or something. Patsy just shrugged in reply, and Delia didn't know why but she was gentle when she asked her, "Do you want to listen to them now?"

Patsy was quiet for good few seconds before smiling gently, "Yes, sure. But only for a while, I've got to edit that immunology essay before I send it in." Delia nodded – she knew what she was on about. She'd spent all day doing it, and it was due at eight.

"Come on then." Delia grabbed her hand, and Patsy tucked the stack of records under her arm. As they head down the hallway, the kitchen door was closed but she could still hear Cynthia and Trixie talking inside. Patsy's head turned and she glanced to her questioningly. "I think Cynthia's having a word with her about the other night." She explained quietly, as they stepped into her room.

"Maybe that's a good thing." Patsy sighed, sinking into her bed in her usual spot, jamming a pillow against the wall. "I don't know what to think about Trix. She seems like she's got it all together one minute, and then the next she's absolutely lost it. I think Tom is grounding her a bit though."

"She's still going out with him?" Delia questioned casually, crossing her legs on the floor next to her record player.

"I don't really know what they're doing. But she likes him and he's quite sensible, so I guess it tempers her a bit." She explained, leaning back and running a hand through her hair, erasing the hard work of her apparently meticulous morning routine – though she hadn't seen it – and letting it fall into her face. Delia liked her hair like that.

"What shall we play first then?" Delia grinned, fanning the LPs like a deck of cards in front of her.

Patsy smirked gently, "Close your eyes and pick one."

She obliged, and came up trumps with Cyndi Lauper. "I'd love to say I know this album cover to cover, but I'm not actually sure when Girl's Just Wanna Have Fun comes."

The other girl chuckled, "Let it sneak up on us then, the suspense will be thrilling."

She placed the record on the turntable, lifting the needle and touching it gently against the disc, diving for the bed as it rode out the first crackles and leaning against Patsy's side. "Sorted yourself out with a pillow then, did you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you uncomfortable?" Patsy rolled her eyes, looking down at her happily lounging on her shoulder.

"No, this is lush."

There wasn't much else Delia enjoyed more than just listening to music with people, be it at a concert, a club, or in her room with just one other person. But being with Patsy made it that bit better…okay, it made it a lot better. Halfway through the song, she'd settled her head in the other girl's lap, and Patsy didn't seem to mind, her fingers drumming in time with the music against the quilt. She seemed especially thoughtful this evening, and maybe it was her essay weighing on her mind, or maybe it was something else, but somehow Delia could tell she wasn't being quiet because she was nervous around her, that today it simply wasn't that. She had also found out though, that Patsy hated being quizzed about her feelings, so she tried not to cave to her tendency to ask people what was wrong when they looked sad and immediately try to fix it. Not everyone could be fixed by her counsel or her advice, however extensive or well intentioned, and not everyone wanted it. She had to remember that sometimes. Besides, she didn't look sad per se, just pensive.

"Oh my god." It had finally happened. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun had come on. Despite the fact she was lounging in the lap of the most beautiful girl, some situations just had to be honoured, and she hopped off the bed gleefully. "Come on, Pats." She reached for her hand, trying to pull her up, but she remained seated.

"I thought you didn't like cheesy music." Patsy folded her arms across her chest to protect her hands from Delia's grabbing ones.

"True, but this isn't cheesy, it's timeless. There's a difference." Delia insisted. "Please, Patsy. I will dance on my own, and that's just sad. You don't want me to look like a twat, do you?"

"You don't look like a twat when you dance, even on your own." She said, her eyes following her. "Unlike me – I'm a laughing stock."

"Oh, shush. I've seen you dance, there's nothing wrong with you. And you're not a laughing stock…though Trixie did say one thing." She teased, and Patsy looked alarmed. "She said you always leave room for Jesus when you dance with boys because of your Catholic guilt…I didn't say, but I think it's something entirely different."

Patsy laughed then, and Delia was glad she seemed able to see the humour in her sexuality, given that she'd literally just come out the other day. It wasn't easy, and she knew that all too well. She hadn't had the worst run of it, but she was from a small town with small minds, and though her friends and school had been fine about it, not everyone else had, not least her mam. Sometimes when the plans parents had for their children, the life they envisioned for them, veered dramatically off course, they were unsettled. She could have understood if she'd taken a while to get used to the idea, but she still wasn't alright with it, and they didn't talk about it – under any circumstances. She didn't get what the big deal was – all that had changed was that Delia wasn't going to be with the kind of person her mother had assumed, that she was going to be with women. It didn't seem like the biggest thing to have to reconcile, but apparently it was and she wouldn't pretend to get why her mother had to make it the elephant in the room.

"Okay." Delia panted, nearly all danced out, though she had at least one more song in her. "No, don't you dare light a cigarette – you can't say no to this." She slipped the Cyndi Lauper record back into its sleeve.

"I think you'll find I can." Delia launched forward, plucking the cigarette from Patsy's lips and dangling it in front of her. "Hey!"

Delia tucked it behind her ear, "You'll get it back when you play fair."

"Fine, but only because that's a good look for you."

She smiled, knowing that Patsy had a pack full but had simply given in, and leaned back over the turntable, smirking to herself.

"Spandau Ballet? Delia, you're an absolute joke." Patsy rolled her eyes when she heard what she was playing.

"Who's laughing?" She grinned.

"Well, I'm not singing."

"That's fine, I've got a loud singing voice."

"I hate you, you know that?" She said dryly, as Delia took her hand.

" _These are my salad days, slowly being eaten away_." She sung.

"Delia, please don't."

" _Just another play for today. Oh, but I'm proud of you. But I'm proud of you!"_

"You're actually quite a good singer."

"Join in."

"No."

" _Gold! Always believe in your soul!_ " She roared along with the chorus. "Dance properly." She demanded.

Patsy relented and let her take her hands, and Delia didn't know what she was talking about when she said she was a bad dancer. She could move in time to music, and that was plenty enough. Or maybe it was that she couldn't possibly think Patsy was a bad dancer when she was this close, when she was grinning and laughing and holding onto her hands. She didn't seem so averse to the idea now, apparently she just took a bit of convincing sober, but Delia was happy to put the work in.

When the song drew to a close, there was nothing for it, they simply had to collapse onto the bed out of breath – how terribly inconvenient.

"Give it back then." Patsy reached for the cigarette behind Delia's ear, and she jerked away, laughing.

"No. I'm talking to you."

"I can talk and smoke, you know." She rolled her eyes, this time grabbing Delia's arms so she couldn't covet the cigarette.

"Yeah, but you'll blow smoke in my face." Delia wrestled out of her grip and reclined on the bed, Patsy following and her playfulness fading as she got the point. She wanted to be close to her, and she couldn't do that if her eyes were watering. In fact, she wasn't sure there was even a cigarette's worth of space between them right now.

"Right." She smiled shyly, the LP continuing on in the background.

Delia laughed. She laughed because of the ridiculousness of the situation, of how they were skirting around this, and had been since they'd made up after Bunker. It was stupid really, that they'd both been careful not to get into a situation like this, kept their distance when they were alone, creating reasons like work and Tesco trips to spend time together but not quite reason enough to end up like this, inches away from each other on Delia's bed. _Fuck it._ No, wait. _Think about this._

She reigned in her impulsivity for as long as it took her to draw in a few deep breaths, to just consider carefully that Patsy had probably never done this before, or at least very little, if she'd only just come out and only to her. She wanted to go into this with that in mind, and once it was firmly in place she really saw no other reason not to kiss her. She slipped her hand into the dip of her waist, and that alone made Patsy's breath get stuck in her chest, she felt it under her palm. So she was careful as she leant in, but not tentative – no one could mistake her for that, she was never really nervous about this kind of thing; she always knew what she wanted. Patsy's lips were soft and her kiss exploring, gentle, but kiss her back she did.

They'd both wanted this, she knew that much. She wasn't one to fervently deny it when someone was into her – and she could tell that Patsy was, she wasn't stupid. And that meant it really wasn't long before the other girl's leg was between hers, Delia's hand had urged her hips flush against her own, and Patsy was meeting her enthusiastically in the middle after following her lead, and she couldn't help but smile into the kiss. But running themes were just that, and Patsy's phone began to ring. She pulled away only to dipped into her pocket and silence the annoyance, barely breaking away, quickly replacing the hand that had been splayed across the small of her back and allowing herself to be pulled back in. But it rang again.

And then again.

"You can answer it." Delia said breathlessly, her lips taking up residence on the other girl's neck, giving her a chance to reply – or maybe that was a little unfair, because she didn't seem able to say anything then. Patsy sighed, though out of frustration or something else she couldn't tell, and produced her ringing phone. The caller ID read 'Dad', and she supposed that it must be pretty important, but Patsy hung up again.

"It's fine-"

"It's not important." Patsy said firmly.

"Really, I don't mi-"

"Can we stop talking about it?" She sounded agitated.

Delia new she ought not to ask anymore, though it didn't usually stop her. She just didn't want to undo all the progress they'd made, not like last time, so she nodded and smiled through hazy eyes at her, fingers tracing a path into the small of her waist and over her hip and drumming against the top of her thigh. Patsy leaned in again, but Delia faltered. "You seem upset."

"I'm fine."

"I won't make you talk about it, but I know you're not okay." Delia bit her lip, speaking to her honestly. "How about I give you this back?" She reached behind her ear but the cigarette was long-gone, dislodged by fingers that had been drawing her closer moments before.

Patsy laughed then, cheering up a little bit. "It's alright, I've got another one." She realised that Delia wasn't going to let her kiss her problems away, so she smoked them into oblivion instead, chaining on her bed and leaning against Delia's chest. She didn't talk about it, and instead they just lay there, occasionally shifting to replace the record and taking up a new position each time, enjoying as much of each other as they could. Delia fell asleep to the smell of smoke and Patsy's perfume, to the sound of her breathing and the occasional drag, with her fingers tangled in red hair and the other hand tracing a pattern along her arm.

When she awoke, it was Patsy shaking her gently. "I've got to go and look over that bloody essay." She whispered.

"Shit, yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise." Delia said sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "Wait." Patsy turned as she sat up, and Delia reached for her. She smiled in understanding, and leant down to press a kiss to her lips.

"Can I come back? After I've finished." She asked shyly, her cheeks burning and her gaze averted.

Delia was endeared by the fact she even thought she had to ask. "Of course."


	7. Curry and Plaid

A/N: Here we go again, well over eight weeks into term for our girls. I'd love to say sorry for the wait, but its not even been a week since I last updated. :P

If you're interested, head on over to my tumblr (patience-elizabeth-mount) as I've begun posting some pics of the ladies to go with every new chapter. Anyway, as usual I hope you enjoy!

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Trixie

It was days like this that made Trixie want to dance in the street, but she knew all too well that everything could come crashing down at any moment. It was a strange way to think, that even the smallest of happiness's shouldn't be taken for granted. Unpredictability had been a part of her life, and a part of her for that matter, for as long as she knew, and she couldn't forget it. In that sense nothing was really ever truly enjoyed, never reveled in, never basked in. Of course, some things brought her enjoyment, held her interest – her subject, she had control over that, and fashion, it was frivolous. But she had an underlying distrust of anything that tried to take a hold of her, tried to rouse her passion. She could fake it well enough – so well, that she could convince herself most of the time – though nothing ever really took her heart between two hands and made it sing.

But anyway, back to her day.

She'd grabbed breakfast from The Stop, the café she always dragged Patsy and Babs too because their mixed vegetable juices were to die for. Then she'd head to her department - Patsy would make fun of her for having one lecture a week but hat wasn't true. She actually had five. And today's had gone absolutely swimmingly, she'd even answered a few questions and got them all right. Tom wasn't being weird about the other night like she'd expected him to be at all, which was something of a massive fucking relief. The last thing she wanted when given the responsibility of deflowering a twenty-one year old man was to having him thinking he should call her and grovel to her and pine away. Now that would be absolutely pitiful. She was heading home to a fridge full of banging ingredients – if Delia hadn't found them yet – for what had the potential to be the best Thai green curry ever, and later she was going out after like four days of absolutely no fun.

However, in the twenty minutes it took her to cycle back from her faculty library, where her essay had flowed beautiful and been emailed well on time, she'd received three texts.

 **[Mum] 17:21** Sweetie ! Can you please call your daddy he hasn't heard from you in a while. tell him your getting on really well for me I know you are. Xxxx

 **[Tom] 17:28** we really need to talk Trixie

 **[Cynthia] 17:34** Trixie, let's not fall out about the other day. Xx

Mum was easy. That was something to ignore for two or three days – a conversation with her father was going to take more than a few hours, and she had to cook, get ready and head out. She knew exactly how it would go though – they would both pretend to be utterly fine, that life was going swimmingly and without hiccup, regardless of the truth. Not that she wasn't having an absolutely amazing time at uni, of course. She didn't know about her dad though, and she was kind of glad she wasn't living at home anymore, that she could almost let herself believe the stories that were spun to her over the phone. As for Tom, that was simple too – she would probably reply to him tomorrow and try not to think about the cold arse text he'd just dropped in her lap. It would be impossible not to, and she didn't know what he was playing at. She was genuinely hoping it was about anything _but_ the other night, no matter how bad. She really didn't need him being an absolute baby about it. And as far as Cynthia was concerned, of course she forgave her for her ridiculous 'intervention'. She was one of her oldest friends, and as different as they had grown over the years they'd always remained as loyal to each other as they were when they met on the first day of prep school. She just didn't need her judging her way of having fun – there was nothing wrong with it, there were plenty of people who enjoyed a good party like her and they were all fine. She was just unfortunate enough to have friends that took life a little too seriously, but she loved them anyway.

The first thing she did when she got back was to check that her prawns had defrosted – she had just been that on point with her organisation today – and then chuck them in the fridge for later, and the next was to have a shower. Student living though, meant that wasn't going to be possible straight away, as it was occupied. Sighing, she returned to her room to unpack her day's work and file it away, having a quick tidy while she was at it, and wondering where the hell everyone was. It was a Friday night for god's sake. That said, Patsy was adamant she wasn't coming out, Barbara and Cynthia had gone to a Christian Union thing – she was pretty sure Tom was going to be there as well, but she was hardly going to ask him now – and as for Delia, she had no clue what that girl was ever really up to apart from the fact that she was spending an awful lot of time with Patsy recently.

It wasn't as if she was _that_ jealous or anything. It made sense, of course. They did the same subject and were in the same group for most of their weird lab things, and therefore were set mostly the same work by the same professors. She supposed it was no different to when Patsy had to lock herself away to work before she had become friends with Delia, except now they did it together. She would admit to feeling a little put out sometimes, because it wasn't as if she could barge in when they were trying to get through mountains of assignments, but they were getting awfully close in the process and she couldn't help but feel like she was missing out – just a little bit. She supposed it couldn't be helped, and she couldn't be too bitter that the both of them had someone to share their frustration about their ridiculous amount of contact hours and work, since Patsy always banging on about it got on her nerves sometimes.

After she'd finally grabbed a shower, she set to work on her dinner; pleasantly surprised that Delia was in the kitchen. She was good company, always up for a chat, though uncharacteristically for her seemed rather engrossed in her phone. She was the kind of person that shoved her phone in her pocket for the duration of a conversation with anyone, no matter how well she knew them, and gave them her full attention. She had a way of making everyone feel like she was interested in what they were talking about, which was something Trixie hadn't quite mastered – she didn't have the patience or the inclination. But then, she didn't care if everyone liked her.

"Oh, sorry! You alright, Trix?" She looked apologetic, and quickly put the device to one side.

"Not too bad, if I'm honest. I've had a pretty good day actually." Trixie smiled at Delia, who was blowing on her tea, grabbing pots and pans all the while.

"Decent." Delia nodded. "Hey…that note in the kitchen the other day about my music – it wasn't you was it? I'm really sorry anyway, I definitely do need to keep it down."

Trixie raised her eyebrows in surprise, though she shouldn't do – it had become Winifred's chief medium of expressing her displeasure. "No, it wasn't actually. In fact, I've been rather enjoying your music of late. If I'm not mistaken, you were playing Wham last night." It was much better than that ridiculous, reverberating music she usually played.

The other girl laughed, "I was actually. You've got a good ear. Patsy let me borrow some of her mum's old records, a load of really great eighties stuff."

She looked shocked then, frowning to herself. In fact, she was a little hurt. Patsy absolutely went off on one at her for going near that box of hers, when all she'd been doing was going through the other girl's checked shirt collection for something to wear to a fancy dress party and had just happened across it, thinking there were more clothes in there. Like, she couldn't underline quite how much Patsy had lost her shit that evening, and now she was just opening up to Delia like it was absolutely nothing. "Really?"

"Yeah, like Chaka Khan, Cyndi Lauper, y'know?"

"No, I meant she actually let you borrow them?" Trixie elaborated.

Delia paused then for a moment, "Yeah."

"Did you have to beg her or something?" Trixie could just imagine, Delia with her blind and unwavering enthusiasm for music having to get down on her knees, and Patsy reluctantly agreeing to let her listen to the LPs mostly out of awkwardness.

Delia looked a little confused, "No, we just listened to a few of them together and then she said I could keep hold of the rest."

"But they're her mum's."

"I know."

"Delia, Patsy's mum died." Trixie remembered that whole evening well. How they'd fallen out and she'd thought that she'd lost the first friend she'd made at uni, how Patsy had slammed her door shut and made her intention to not come to the fancy dress party entirely clear, and then how she'd come home from it, having felt a mixture of guilty and hurt and found Patsy in the kitchen. She had apologised for having a go at her, and told her that her mother had died when she was young but hadn't said anything else about it. Trixie hadn't pushed her to say more, though she wished she had, just so she could have understood, could have maybe tried to say the right thing – though she never did. But Patsy said how she felt as and when she wanted to, and no more than what she was ready to reveal.

The small brunette was quiet, her eye's flickered down and she thought to herself that she'd never seen her look so pensive, so unsure of what to say. She seemed to be piecing together things, or at least trying to. It was so hard with Patsy though, she gave one so little to work with. Trixie was surprised, to say the least, that Delia hadn't been aware, especially as Patsy had given her those records and everything. The redhead was confusing a lot of the time though, and although an air of mystery and aloofness upped one's attractiveness tenfold, it wasn't always practical when it came to forging relationships. She knew that all too well.

"She didn't say." Delia spoke softly. "What happened?"

Trixie shrugged, sighing, "I don't know, really. She said it was when she was eleven though. Must have been when she lived in Singapore."

"She lived in Singapore? I thought she was from…what's it called?...Berkshire."

Patsy made herself so bloody hard to get to know sometimes, and she couldn't for the life of her work out why she seemed to know far more – small things as they were – about the redhead than Delia did, yet it was the Welsh girl she silently shared symbolic acts of great trust with. "Well, yeah, but she lived abroad for absolutely ages. Like, until she was like thirteen. Her dad's a businessman or something, I don't know what he does though – I think it's to do with exports and shipping." Trixie explained to an interested Delia.

"Oh." She appeared thoughtful, taking a sip of her tea. "Shit, I have to run to Tesco's, Trix." She said, glancing at her watch. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

She waved her off, halfway through her mountain of chopping and reflecting on the gaps in Delia's knowledge. She wouldn't pretend to understand Patsy, but then she supposed she was rather the same with her friend. They both got by, whatever was going on, they both coped no matter how much they were on the verge of breaking – they could always pull themselves back, just about. So they never _needed_ to explain themselves, it always went unsaid, hanging in the air while they pretended to be having the best time ever and partied until they couldn't remember anymore, or while they piled under a duvet with the others watching a film on a quiet night knowing that this was what they needed more than anything in that moment. They were respectful of each other in that sense too, perhaps because they understood what it was like to be hounded, to be utterly overwhelmed, by people asking what was wrong. She never bothered Patsy when she locked herself away because she knew that it was because she didn't want anyone to see her, and Patsy never tried to interfere in her drowning of her sorrows. Maybe they should encourage each other to express themselves in healthier ways, but this way was far easier, and it wasn't like they weren't both completely fine most of the time.

Knocking on Patsy's door later that night, she felt just a little bit guilty. She knew how private she was and maybe it wasn't right of her to have told Delia those things. She always spoke first and thought about repercussions later. In fact most of the time she didn't think or really care about what she said, but she cared for Patsy enough to at least question, though far too late, whether or not she should have opened her mouth. Still though, matters of fashion were of the utmost importance, and she had to get her opinion of what she was wearing out tonight.

"Come to treat my room as your own personal catwalk again?" Patsy looked up from her desk.

"Naturally."

"I don't know why. You know I couldn't possibly offer you any advice – you always look great." She said.

"It's nice to be told though." Trixie smirked.

"What do you think of this, by the way?" Patsy spun around in her chair.

"Um, what happened to not going out. And, I don't meant to be harsh Pats, but I'm not walking into Gino's with you looking like that." If she was planning on leaving their block in a plaid shirt and a pair of boyfriend jeans she'd best be headed to Bunker and nowhere near where Trixie was going.

Patsy sighed, "No, I'm not coming with you to drink cocktails with Patricia and Lavinia. I just meant objectively. Like…does it look okay?"

Trixie rolled her eyes, the other girl never seemed to want to go out with the group of mates she'd started uni with anymore. At first she thought she'd just gone off going out full stop, but it had turned out it was just those girls. She didn't see anything wrong with them – they were an absolute riot. She also didn't know what Patsy was playing at. She was usually so confident in everything she wore, and she could rock a dustbin bag if she was perfectly honest and she wished she had Patsy's eye for making menswear work the way she did. "Objectively? Casual, but on point. Very trendy, would go well with your white trainers. Are you going somewhere or something?"

"No, Delia's just cooking me dinner and then we might pop to the pub." Patsy shrugged her shoulders, getting up to grab the white trainers in question and holding them up. "You're right about these. Thanks."

"Delia's _cooking_?" Trixie almost burst out laughing on the spot. She'd never seen the other girl even go so much as near the hob – she worshiped at the altar of the microwave.

Patsy chuckled gently, "Yeah, supposedly. I think Plan B is toast though.

"Are you sure that's not Plan A?"

"Speaking of plans, are you going out after cocktails?" Patsy asked.

"Not sure – probably though. Maybe Paradise or Rev's with the boys. I suppose it depends on whether they win their match or not."

"Will Hugo be there?" She inquired gently.

"No, I'm not going to fuck him again, Patsy. Once was plenty enough."

Patsy laughed, "I'm sure it was. Though will you be going back to Tom for seconds?"

"No idea, I hope so though. He just sent me a really weird text, but I'm just gonna go out and not think about that for like, as long as humanly possible."

The other girl frowned, "What did he say?"

"It really doesn't matter, Patsy. It's probably nothing, just silly boys not knowing how to word things in a way that doesn't leave the door open for negative interpretation and the like." She didn't really want to talk about it to be honest, and Patsy usually got pretty bored when she went on about Tom for any extended period of time. She really couldn't tell if she liked him or not, but Babs and Cynthia approved well enough. "Sometimes I just wish I was like Delia. She must have it so much easier."

"I don't think its easier, Trix."

"Oh, you know what I mean! Girls know how other girls feel and all that. Besides, I bet she's a great texter. You know, I heard from Denny she had so many ladies on the go by the end of fresher's week she hardly knew what to do with herself, or which one to do for that matter."

"Really?" Yet again, Trixie was surprised they hadn't talked about this. She was slightly less jealous now, since they clearly didn't spend all their time gossiping and talking about their love lives like normal girls their age – not that Patsy had one, but she was determined to fix that for her. They must be proper boring and actually only talk about medicine, so she really wasn't missing out after all.

"Yeah, apparently she was quite overwhelmed. Must have calmed down after the first few weeks though, its not like I see anyone leaving her room doing the walk of shame like I did in fresher's week. Or maybe she just got through them all." Trixie joked, and Patsy laughed weakly. Really, she couldn't tell if she was a complete prude or not. One mention of sex and she closed off like it was nobody's business. "Anyway, babes, I'm gonna dash now. But enjoy your dinner with Delia, and I hope you survive it." She ducked down to give her a kiss on the cheek, and then head off out, really hoping that she meant what she said when she had vowed not to go near Hugo.


	8. Snapshots and Slander

A/N: Again, if you so wish, you can find a character photoset for this chapter on my tumblr (patience-elizabeth-mount). As per usual I hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks for all your lovely continued support and patience - it really is what makes me want to carry on getting these chapters out quickly!

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Patsy

It was hard to think of a free evening that they didn't spend in each other's beds. Though of course, free evenings were hard to come by at uni. They both always seemed to have something on, either that or work was unbearable. It tended to be Patsy that put in late nights at the library, or couldn't be disturbed at her desk – really, there was no chance of finishing anything once Delia skulked in a twelve in the morning – and Delia who would get back too late from the gym, or would be showing her face at a club night in town. But whenever they had no obligations, whenever they could be, they were together. They had even started planning around each other – Patsy would manage her work well so it would be done, cycle just that bit faster after a late fencing meet. Delia would just have a couple of drinks out and then come home at a reasonable hour, crawling into her bed, hazy and warmed by alcohol. It was quite wonderful, really.

See, it wasn't that Patsy never thought she'd find anyone. It wasn't that she was so hopelessly pessimistic that she genuinely believed that she'd keep this part of her hidden forever, that no one would ever want – read: put up with – her. She knew that things would be okay eventually, that maybe even _she'd_ be okay one day, but she never saw it, even in the distance, coming towards her anytime soon. Once she'd realised this part of her, once she'd realised what all of those feelings she'd had – for friends, older girls, teachers – really meant, she'd stuffed them away. It was sad really, that she'd felt freer to let herself feel those things when she was younger, not really understanding what they meant. Though she supposed on some level, she'd known it wasn't to be talked about even then. But as she'd got older, understood the implications of it, known of the fallout if anyone where to discover her, she'd compartmentalised the surges of affection she would feel, any inkling of attraction. And even now she was here, in a new place, with new people who probably wouldn't mind so much, she was still learning to just let herself feel. It helped that Delia was a good teacher.

Good things just didn't really happen to Patsy Mount. Well, she supposed some things did. She was lucky in a lot of ways – her schooling, the opportunities provided to her, had been next to none. She knew that much, and often felt guilty of it. But people like Delia didn't just walk into her life and get away with it without her questioning whether or not they'd stay, whether or not it was worth getting attached. She'd known the girl for but a couple of months, they'd been doing this…thing for about three weeks now, and she so wanted to settle into it, she so wanted to relax in the way that Delia could, for it to come naturally to her, for it to feel like it was going to last, that she could dare to be happy. Maybe Delia took a more laid back approach because there wasn't so much at stake for her, maybe it was that she didn't like her as much, that she knew she could have any girl she wanted in this university – if she hadn't already, by the sounds of things – or maybe she was pretending just as well as Patsy could that it didn't mean quite as much as it did. Oh, Patsy was a master of nonchalance.

She could never really tell if it was her or not, that aloof air she tended to give off. In a lot of ways it was. But whether she had built it up long ago so meticulously and it was being brought down, or it was intrinsic and she was learning to curb it, she supposed she'd never know. But either way it slipped, somewhat, when she was with Delia. She never laughed like she did when she was with her, never reached for someone so willingly, so unabashedly afraid of what they'd think of her neediness, her burgeoning dependency, she'd never wanted anyone to depend on full stop. She'd never been given the chance to for such a very long time.

For all her later schooling, for all the buzzing dorms and living shoulder to shoulder with other girls, she'd always felt alone – even with friends – ever since she was a little girl, ever since the life she'd known was ripped from under her feet and warped into something unrecognisable, something isolated, confusing and utterly exhausting.

Perhaps she wasn't aloof then. Perhaps she was just tired – tired and numb.

Uni had helped, shaking off friends that she'd never really sat right with helped, god knows Trixie had helped. But still, nothing had made even the slightest bit of headway into making her feel as if she wasn't deserted in this world, left out in the cold of her thoughts, like Delia had. And she did it so easily, like it was breathing to her to give life and laughter to everyone around her but most of all her. And though at times she had wondered if Delia was just like that with everyone – and really, very few were immune to her charms – by now she wasn't too insecure not to notice that she was different with Patsy. 'Why did Delia want her?' seemed like a question for another day, like so many of her doubts, stuffed to the back of her mind. Thoughts of her own awkwardness and apprehension, of Delia's past conquests, of everything better, less broken, she could have, boiled up from time to time. But she tried to keep them under control. She knew well enough that all of that wouldn't do any good to dwell on.

She was proud of herself, in a way, for not reacting to the picture that Trixie had painted of Delia. Her friend seemed to know everything about everyone – at least, where their sexploits were concerned – and it was, when Patsy could bear to find humour in it, rather funny that she didn't know what was going on right next door to her. Not that there was much, well any, sex. Another thing she had to keep telling herself not to worry about. Delia was patient, and she was kind, and she hadn't for one moment made her feel as if it was a pre-requisite to their time together. But still, she wondered how long it would be before she'd bore of her. After all, Trixie had made it seem as if there was a disorderly queue outside her room in fresher's week, but she did tend to exaggerate. One look at Delia though, and the smiles and smirks she flashed, and somehow Patsy could believe it.

Still though, none of what she had been mulling over was relevant right now. She wasn't even capable of stringing a sentence together. Not in this moment, with Delia's mouth pressed against her neck. She could barely _breathe_ , for goodness sake, every intake of air catching in her throat as the other girl found – god, what muscle was it again? – that spot between her shoulder and neck, relieving it of all tension with her lips. Trapezius. That was it.

Fuck. She was doing that thing again.

Delia's leg slipped neatly between her thighs in a motion so smooth Patsy didn't realize what she was doing until she exhaled hard, in surprise, and into the sharp edge of Delia's jaw line, which absorbed the ensuing whimper. She felt the other girl's smirk forming against her cheek as she dotted a kiss there, chaste in comparison to the venture of her palms, descending into her waist and over the incline of her hips, closing around their sides and urging them flush to her. She felt clumsy as she moved against her, as Delia's guiding touch progressed wandering elsewhere and left her to her own devices. Patsy was used to following her lead, but she couldn't help but respond to the increasing pressure of the other girl's thigh, to garner all she could from it, to meet her kisses wanting, equal in ardour. Patsy hummed against her lips appreciatively, a hand so tangled in her hair she could still feel the cool dampness from her earlier shower under the surface – Delia never bothered to blow dry her hair – and another twisted around the fabric of her t-shirt at her back. Delia's fingers found skin beneath them, in the gap between her top and her jeans, but instead of ascending they teased the red indented line pressed into her skin by the denim waistband and Patsy faltered, recoiled. Just ever so slightly. So slightly that she wished she hadn't – but it was enough.

 _You're a literal joke, Patience Mount. Pull yourself together next time._

The smaller girl's hands quickly relocated to her face without hesitation, cupping her cheeks, easing off their kiss, a final nip to her bottom lip before she pulled away, her eyes searching for a few moments, looking for fear or regret or god knows what. She didn't find it though, Patsy wasn't afraid of her. If she was afraid of anything, it was herself, her potential for inadequacy that was so great it was overwhelming. She was used to being good at things, far too used to it.

"The music's stopped." Delia announced, untangling them and slipping off Patsy's bed, making a beeline for her laptop and smoothing out her clothes as she went, the redhead mourning the loss of the way her T-shirt had ridden up over her hips.

She wondered if Delia was trying to give her a little space, if she was worried too much – or just enough. It took her a little longer than usual to quip, "A bigger travesty, I couldn't think of. For you, that is."

Whatever the smaller girl had put on, thinking for some time before she did so, Patsy was enjoying it. Perhaps she was being careful not to let the disaster of the last random shuffle of her music she did repeat itself – she'd never quite forget the lyrics of that explicit nineties slow jam that had interrupted them one time, and rather killed the mood. Though it seemed nothing was better at killing the mood than Patsy and her incessant worrying about all of this.

It wasn't the be all and end all, not for her at least. Of course, she wanted Delia in that way. She could think of nothing else sometimes, which was quite something when she was supposed to be putting time in the library or midway through cooking a stir-fry with Trix. Even if she didn't know about Delia's apparent wealth of experience, she knew she'd probably still be fretting like this – it didn't help though, if she was honest with herself. She just wanted to be quite as much to Delia as she was to her, but she knew that would never be the case. She was rapidly beginning to need her far more than Delia ever would in return, and it was a hurtling terrifying feeling that rattled her heart. Delia could have anyone, and Patsy was afraid the more of herself she gave to her, the more she revealed, the less the other girl would like her and the more she would stand to loose.

"Don't give me cheek." Delia retorted, settling back down onto the bed, curling into her side in the way that Patsy loved, slinging a leg over her midriff and kissing her shoulder gently while she shifted to accommodate her, laying in silence and closing her eyes. That was until after a few minutes she announced, "Oh, I don't like this song."

"Wait, why?" Patsy reached for her, not wanting her to move again. "I just got comfortable, don't get up again." She whined.

The other girl shrugged, "I don't know. It makes me sad." Patsy frowned a little, but released her from her grip, supposing that was fair enough. Delia was always honest like that, about everything. But when those kinds of words escaped her – _I'm really stressed actually, I feel a bit…just shit to be honest, I'm so exhausted –_ they never sounded like what they implying, never miserable. She was healthy like that, in her relationship with her emotions – she expressed them so readily, so often and easily, that they never seemed to build up enough to make her start bursting at the seams. Patsy didn't know her _that_ well, but Delia definitely seemed to be a hell of a lot saner than her.

On her way back, she glanced over her pin board. Patsy had changed it a little recently, adding some new photos of her and the girls – she wasn't quite the Picasso that Trixie was, but then the other girl was so very creative and had an eye for those sort of things. Patsy kept it simple, lots of pictures and a few ticket stubs and wristbands, like anyone else really. Except by the way Delia was glancing over it anyone would think it was a work of art.

"What's this?" Delia asked.

Patsy sat up, crawling to the edge of her bed to see what she was pointing out. "Oh, that's the lacrosse team from school. I was in Year Nine, I think."

She smirked slightly, and then her smile grew a little softer, "That was last week. You must have gone to Snappy Snaps."

She nodded in affirmation, remembering the quick detour she'd made to the photo shop on the way to lectures last week to get some photos printed, in particular one that Trixie had taken of them unknowing, eating dinner in the kitchen, the Welsh girl mid-laugh.

"Who's that?"

Her eyes flickered to the photograph in question. She supposed she should be prepared to answer questions about, if she was going to plaster photos of her mother around, the woman who's face beamed out from various places in the collage. Her mother was a vision in jodhpurs, a polo mallet over one shoulder and a riding helmet under her arm.

"That's my mum." She answered, as nonchalantly as she could.

"Do you play polo?" Delia couldn't help the smirk that crept onto her lips every time Patsy managed to outdo her own poshness.

She shook her head, "No, I don't ride that well and I don't think I'd have the balls to be honest. It's really dangerous." Maybe she would have learned, eventually, if she'd carried on riding – her mum would have loved that. But she hadn't wanted an instructor, she'd wanted her mother. "I haven't been to the polo since I was a kid." Since before, in Singapore. Her father still went from time to time, with friends, and he'd given up inviting her along. In fact, he'd give up trying to get her to do just about anything for him.

Delia's eyes wandered over the various snaps of her mother, identifying them quickly by the eighties and nineties film quality and her striking blonde hair. There was a picture of her at Oxford, a white-tie clad friend with his arm around her, one of her when she seemed even younger, at a café somewhere in London and looking every bit the Sloane ranger that she was. And there was one of her mother, Nancy and herself, her arms wrapped around each of them, Patsy reaching for Nancy. A picture she often wished she'd just kept in that brown envelope with the many others that didn't make it onto her wall, but one so sweet, such a perfect snapshot, that she didn't want to keep it hidden.

"She's beautiful." Delia remarked.

Patsy nodded in agreement, "I know." She thought it was a pity sometimes, that she didn't resemble her mother more.

"Pats…" Delia started, turning to her. Patsy gazed up in intrigue; the other girl rarely said her name with that much weight hanging from it. She couldn't help but feel dread creeping up on her. "I don't want you to think I've been…dishonest." She paused for a moment, realising that Patsy wasn't going to say anything – that she didn't have anything to say to that. All she could do was fret in the confines of her head. "It's just, I feel bad. Trixie told me about your mam."

Patsy stared blankly at her for a few seconds – her heart didn't lurch, but twisted slowly, agonisingly. She took the time to understand why it did so, to quickly gather some semblance of rationalisation for the reaction that was boiling up in her, to at least justify it slightly. "What did she tell you?" She asked flatly.

She was angry with Trixie, and she was angry with Delia for keeping her insider knowledge from her, for going about everything as normal when she'd been talking about _this_ behind her back. It wasn't that she planned to keep every aspect of her life a mystery where Delia was concerned, it was just that she wanted to explain things to her as and when she felt able to, as and when she wasn't worried that the unknown extent of her ridiculous problems would be too much for Delia to handle, too much to bother with and to care about.

Delia faltered for a moment, "Just that she'd passed away." She said softly. "Patsy…I only wanted you to know that I knew."

"She shouldn't have told you." She stated, through a clenched jaw. She knew that Trixie only knew that her mother was dead, and nothing else, so she couldn't fear what it was exactly that Delia knew, but it still sat at such an odd angle with her. She was terrified she wasn't good enough for the other girl, that she was far too messed up, but so far she'd done a pretty good job at curbing that side of herself, so much so that at times she even let herself think that things could go right. "You want more details, is that it?"

"Patsy, no." She spoke so gently Patsy wanted to be infuriated by it.

"Well, good. It's absolutely none of anyone's business." She said harshly.

Delia reached for her arm, "Of cou-", but she flinched away.

"Just don't, Delia. I don't want to talk about it." That was plain enough, she supposed.

"Let's not leave things like this, Pats. We're going home for Christmas in a few days." Delia urged.

Patsy buried her face in her hands, running her fingers through her hair in exasperation and messing it beyond repair. "You're going home for Christmas. I'm staying here, as it happens. And no, I don't want to talk about that either." She heard the scathing in her tone and knew she would regret it later, but she didn't regret it now. "And what does it matter about the Christmas holidays? You're seriously suggesting that you're going to wait for me."

The other girl frowned then, "Why wouldn't I? Patsy, I really like you."

"So you won't be sleeping with every girl back home just like you have done here?" There it was, the latent insecurity about Delia's alleged track record boiling to the surface – it was overdue really, it had been a miracle she'd kept it under control for so long. She just wished it wasn't coming out like this.

Delia looked hurt then, "What's that supposed to mean? I think you're severely over-estimating the amount of lesbians in rural Wales."

"I see. It's just that there's a lack of them." She retorted.

Delia looked like she was struggling not to snap at her, but somehow she managed it – probably only because she felt sorry for her about her mum, which Patsy hated. Or maybe Delia was just an infinitely better person than she was. "No. Did I not just tell you that I liked _you_? God, if you'd just asked me yourself then you wouldn't be sitting here thinking that I'm some sort of womanizer. Really, you're giving me far too much credit. I'd be flattered if you weren't being so unreasonable about this."

That was it, she was unreasonable, irrational, and an absolute idiot. She hated her temper, and she hated herself. "I can't talk anymore. Can you just go?" She could have perhaps tried to make amends, she could have apologized or explained that she was quick to anger when people brought up things like that. She could have even gone as far to tell her everything. Well, not everything, but enough for her to understand why she would want to be private about it, why it was far more complicated that it could ever seem on the surface. But no, she hadn't done any of that. She'd sent her out of her sight, and likely out of her life now, because who on earth would want to deal with this mess?


	9. Netflix and Search Party

A/N: As usual, find graphics on my tumblr patience-elizabeth-mount under the tag 'AoT'. As usual, I really hope you enjoy and didn't mind the wait too much. I promise that whilst this is quite the eventful episode, the next chapter's a very exciting one! Much love x

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Barbara

The Christmas holidays had been all right, she supposed. It was nice to return home after months of being away for the very first time, to get back to Liverpool and her friends there, all back from their respective institutions as well. She didn't really feel like the same person though – she felt like she'd grown three feet taller, not in stature but in spirit, in a way. Regrouping with her home friends had to be the best bit, but all of a sudden it seemed rather silly that her dad would tut and chastise her for popping down the Dog and Duck with them and staying out past eleven, and she didn't always want to spend all day at the church – even her friends from her church group had been bitten by the clubbing bug after their first term's at university, and she wanted to join them, but she hadn't really been allowed.

Of course, she couldn't exactly tell her dad that he had nothing to worry about if she was hanging around with that lot. They were miles tamer in comparison to some of her friends at uni, namely a one Patsy Mount and a one Trixie Franklin. She'd told him of them, she wouldn't have been able not to – they were so important to her already, and she'd spent such a ridiculous amount of her day staring down at her phone and smirking at their group chat that she'd been told off for it countless times. But she'd given him a much more…wholesome picture of the girls she lived with who smoked like chimneys and cursed and wore whatever the hell they felt like so confidently no one ever questioned it. Barbara wondered if he sensed her barebones description of them, especially in comparison to his apparent approval of her portrayal of Cynthia, whom he said could come and visit anytime. She hadn't even bothered trying to explain Delia to dad.

They all certainly kept her both on her toes but grounded at the same time, in their different ways. It was Trixie that encouraged her to have fun, Patsy that did the damage control when she had a little too much of it – she would never stop being grateful for how she had hauled her up the stairs after the first night of fresher's and held her hair back all night long – Cynthia that made her feel at home, and Delia, well Delia made her laugh.

When she'd pulled up outside of their block in her car, Patsy had been standing by the bollards, smoking outside and not in her room for a change, and had wrapped her in a tight hug. She saw her father's eyes drop to the cigarette clutched between her fingers, his nose wrinkle at the smell. She'd found out that Patsy had only 'popped' - in her words - to her aunt's for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, heading back the morning after, but she very quickly realised that it wasn't something to quiz her on, and it wasn't something she wanted to talk about. So she let that be. Trixie turned up the next day, and she was glad her father wasn't around to witness the squeal of delight the blonde let out, and the shopping bags laden with enough wine for a week's worth of pre-drinks hanging from her each arm. Delia arrived quietly later in the week, having got the train and not being driven by her parents - somehow that seemed very her - and Barbara didn't see much of her at first. She seemed to be keeping to her room.

At least they were all back together again though, and she was eager to catch up with her friends. Although term hadn't started yet, it seemed difficult to pin them down, and she didn't like to chase them up. Sometimes she wondered why Patsy and Trixie gave her the time of day – they really were just…well, cool. They didn't have all that much in common with her, though a lot with each other – or so it seemed, because when you got down to it, the redhead and the blonde really were quite different if she was honest – and she questioned whether they would have ever actually crossed paths in amongst all the other students here if they hadn't ended up being placed in the same block and sharing the same kitchen. Just one floor down, and they could have been the two pretty girls upstairs whose music she could hear through the rafters.

She didn't let it get her down though, because usually they were so good at making her feel included. And even right now it wasn't that they weren't asking her along – she was sure the two of them hadn't even sat down with each other since they'd arrived. Trixie was spending a lot of time with those girls from Patsy's school, being invited to rugby and rowing socials despite playing neither of those sports, usually sleeping off a hangover in the morning and out at night. The afternoon seemed the best time to catch her. She'd wander into the kitchen bleary eyed, squinting and crack a joke about the state of herself, maybe pick at some bread before heading back to bed. Patsy seemed to be fencing all the time, and when she bumped into her it was like she never really wanted to sit down in the kitchen over a cup of tea and have a chat, like she had somewhere to be, or somewhere she didn't want to be. She'd grab a granola bar, swig some apple juice from the carton and disappear to her room or off out – she supposed that medics really did have a lot to do. But lectures weren't for another few days, and no one had been set all that much work yet.

Barbara always seemed to be the last to catch on to whatever was going on with them, and she felt like that now. But she did know that neither of them seemed happy.

Thus, she'd had a lot of evenings in with Cynthia and Winifred, of which she was grateful. They reminded her of her friends at home, in many ways, from her dad's church group. They had Horlicks and late night chats, and she supposed that was what university was all about – talking into the small hours, philosophising. They were both lovely girls, but she missed her other friends too. It was a little sappy, really, since they had only been back a week, but it hadn't been the grand reunion she had hoped for. It was just that, Trixie and Patsy brought out another side of her, one she knew that was there. She did like watching 4Music, she'd just never had a chance to get out and dance to the songs they played on it before. She did like playing the part of being outgoing until she could believe that she was, and Trixie was exciting and had brought all that into her life in a way that she thought girls like her never would. And Patsy would always urge her to carry on talking when a someone in a busy room cut across her, attentive and patient, interested and supportive in everything she had to say.

Mulling over a text was something she did often, the wording of it, whether or not to use punctuation, whether or not to put kisses at the end. And it took her a good few hours before she'd perfected her draft of her tentative call to arms. She sent it on the group chat, asking the girls if they fancied a 'sleepover' at hers, then altered it a little, sending one individually to Delia, Cynthia and Winifred. And then she waited.

It would be fun, right? To have everyone over, stick on a movie and bring along some snacks. Or forgo the film altogether and just chat, get everyone in the same room like in fresher's week. Winifred had too much work, Cynthia was going to a Christian Union talk tonight, but Patsy and Trixie were game, and it was they she had been desperate to catch up with, so she supposed it had all worked out for the best.

Coming up to eleven, and the mother of all Tesco shops being emptied out of her backpack, Delia still hadn't replied. Perhaps she had been locked up in the library all day – Trixie said she couldn't figure out when she worked, because she went out so much, but Barbara had spoken to her a lot recently, in her loneliness, and she knew that the Welsh girl was intensely studious when it got down to it.

She tidied her room, and set up the perfect arrangement for movie watching, propping pillows up against the wall to imitate a kind-of sofa, and just as she was sorting out her ancient laptop, hoping it would co-operate with her this evening, she was glad to hear a knock at the door.

"Come in." She called.

Patsy strode inside, holding up a bottle of coke and a pack of tortilla chips. "Will I do?" She asked.

"You certainly will." Barbara grinned, taking the treats from Patsy's outstretched hands.

"A Swizzels bumper pack, Babs, you do spoil us." She snapped it up off the bed, tearing into the packet and rummaging through until she pulled out a pack of parma violets.

"Keep your soap sweets, I only bought it for the sherbet lollies." She joined Patsy on the bed, leaning against the pillows and grabbing some confectionary of her own.

"This is just like primary school." Barbara's face fell a little. Perhaps this was really lame after all. "In like, the best way possible." Patsy was always quick to reassure her, to lift her when she doubted herself, and sometimes even for the sake of making her feel even better for no reason. Patsy was a good person, and she didn't like that she seemed so sad lately. "Though, you don't mind if I have a bit of vodka with this coke, do you?"

"Not at all." She replied. Patsy produced a hipflask, pouring a measure into her mug and screwing the cap back on. She'd stopped offering her alcohol a long time ago, silently accepting that if she fancied a drink or two she would have one, but only then. "Is Delia coming, do you know?"

They were ever so close, Patsy and Delia. Or at least, that was what Trixie said, and Barbara herself had seen them spending a lot of time together last term. It had become a given that if you wanted to know the whereabouts of one, you would ask the other, but Patsy creased her brow a little and shrugged. "Probably not."

"She didn't reply to my text." That wasn't like Delia either.

"I suspect she's in the library or something."

"I heard her music as I was coming in. Shall we knock on her?" Barbara suggested enthusiastically.

Patsy paused for a moment, "It must be that she's got a lot of work, Babs. Otherwise she'd be here."

"Oh, have you been set a mountain of it already?" The poor medics. They never seemed to get a break from it all because they had so many contact hours to juggle with their assignments. She was appreciative that Classics was rather flexible in the sense that she could pick and choose when she worked, and not have to fit it around hours of labs.

The redhead nodded, "Yeah, absolutely loads." And with that, she lit a cigarette, without asking if it was alright and without opening the window. She must be stressed, Barbara thought.

They waited on Trixie for a good half an hour, happily chatting whilst browsing Netflix choices, trying to find something that neither of them had watched – and that they suspected the blonde hadn't either. Eventually, and after a couple of texts, Patsy gave her a ring. There was no answer though, and Barbara wondered if she'd forgotten, or her phone had run out of charge, or perhaps she was with Tom. That was Patsy's conclusion – they had got into another argument so she'd been held up at his place. One minute it seemed to be working out between those two, and the next Trixie didn't seem to be able to stand any mention of him.

In the end, they settled on a documentary about the brain. Barbara hadn't seen it and Patsy said it was really interesting and she didn't mind watching it again, since 'it was basically revision'. She didn't seem that focused on it though, playing with empty purple sweet wrappers, glancing at her phone, and crunching on the odd crisp and taking only minutes between cigarettes. Barbara was scared to ask her what was wrong though, knowing it would cause unnecessary awkwardness, because more likely than not – _far_ more likely in fact – Patsy wouldn't answer. It was almost laughable that once she would believe Patsy and Trixie when they lied about everything being alright, but she supposed it was equally laughable that although she had figured out their tendency toward dishonesty in that respect, she still couldn't bring herself to do anything about it. She never pressed them, never called them out, just played along. Perhaps that was worse of her.

Around halfway in, the point at which some scientists were discussing something to do with Serotonin, Patsy's phone began to ring. "Oh, it's Trix." She said, sliding her finger across the screen and raising it to her ear.

"Hey, we were just-" She paused, "Trixie…Trix, slow down, babes." Barbara watched as her tone and her features grew concerned. "Alright, it's alright – where are you?" Patsy stood up then, "It's okay, I'm coming, just tell me where you-fuck…Shit. Trixie? Hello?"

"What's going on?"

"I don't know. Something about Tom. She's really drunk." Patsy bit her lip.

"Where is she?" Barbara felt useless, only able to ask stupid questions.

Patsy shook her head, "No idea. I'll keep calling her, I'm gonna grab my coat though, and some cash for a cab, I don't know how far away she is – we'll have to go and find her." She shoved her phone under her ear after dialing her again, and Barbara began to wrap up warm as well. She wished Cynthia were here, she would know what to do, but she'd still be at the Christian Union refreshers party. Winifred wouldn't want to come traipsing in the dark, but if they were going to have to end up splitting up then they needed reinforcements.

"Delia? It's Barbara." She knocked on the Welsh girl's door, knowing that she'd be invaluable in this unfolding crisis.

She called for her to come in, and she was lounging on her bed in a pair of tracksuit bottoms and crop top, what sounded distinctly like Family Guy playing on her laptop. Now wasn't the time to wonder why she hadn't come along to the movie night though, and she quickly explained the situation to her. Delia grabbed a sweatshirt and began layering up – it was freezing outside she said, and depending on how drunk Trixie was there was a risk of hypothermia, so she wrapped an extra scarf around herself for when they found the other girl.

"Babs? Oh." She heard Patsy shouting from the hallway, and the redhead looked surprised when she emerged from Delia's, the smaller brunette in tow behind her. She didn't say anything to Delia, just turned back to Barbara and explained, "She said she's near Gallagher Street, so it can only be around there. That's all I could get out of her. I've dropped a couple of texts to the girls, and I messaged Tom, but we should go and look."

That was a relief – Gallagher Street was about a ten minute walk from here, maybe less if they were quick about it, but it was the maze of residential streets around it that could potentially be their, and Trixie's, undoing.

"I'll go on my bike and circle around, see if I can find her. I'll call you if I do and let you know where to meet me." Delia said, as they raced down the stairs. It seemed like a sensible idea, and they watched Delia race off into the distance, red backlight flashing as she peddled hard.

They paced down the street, breath smoky and coats held around their chests, Patsy saying very little whilst Barbara rambled about how Delia would probably find her really quickly, and that she was _sure_ she'd be okay. In reality though, she was terrified. And in some ways, she felt guilty. She should have seen this coming, they all should have. Of course Trixie loved a drink, but usually it was for the purposes of fun. And sometimes she overindulged and ended up a little messy on the street but she always found her way home, or back to a friend's. But then the going out every night had started, the having a few glasses of wine more than Patsy on the evening's in that she didn't, and the subtle references that went over her head for ages to Charlie and Mandy, and the blatant obviousness of Tom's ignorance to all of it.

It was Barbara's phone that rang as they swooped around the corner of Gallagher Street, and she briefly wondered why Delia hadn't called Patsy, but it didn't matter now. She was on Forrest Avenue, about halfway down, and they could breath a tentative sigh of relief. When they spotted them, it was by the glow of Delia's bike lights, the Welsh girl stooped down on the floor next to Trixie, rubbing the blonde's shoulders and trying to warm her up.

"It's alright, Trixie. We're gonna get you to Cynthia as soon as possible." Delia said gently, having already wrapped that spare scarf around her and given Trixie her coat, shuddering against the cold herself now.

Patsy dropped down to the pavement immediately, "I just want her." She groaned, pale and shaking.

"I know you do, Trix." Patsy said softly, "Shall we see if we can get you up?"

Trixie was extremely resistant to the idea of moving, but they knew there was absolutely no way they were going to be able to convince any cab to take her for all the money in the world. So they were going to have to walk. It took a lot of coaxing, and two cigarettes, but eventually she was on her feet, one arm over Delia's shoulder whilst Patsy wheeled her bike for her. As they staggered through the streets, it unfolded that she had broken up with Tom. That she had head straight to the rugby boy's pre-drinks, knowing that it would be a distraction. She said once she had left, knowing she had drunk far too much to be allowed into a club, she had got lost. She seemed to sober up, but Delia was looking like she was struggling under the weight of her after the walk seemed to take twice as long as it had on the way there, and they hadn't even made it halfway home yet.

"I'll take a turn, Delia." Barbara offered.

"Thanks, did my shoulder in at the gym the other day." She rolled out the kinks in it, silently taking her bike from Patsy. The two of them walked behind her and Trixie, lagging behind further and further, talking quietly for the first time this evening, no doubt about Trixie. She wondered why they felt the need to keep such hushed tones when she was fairly sure they could say whatever they wanted about her and the blonde would remember absolutely nothing in the morning.

Eventually though, Patsy stepped in to support Trixie for the final stretch home, and Barbara asked, "What were you and Patsy saying?"

"Hmm?" Delia looked a little out of it, and she was surprised that she was so ruffled about this, when earlier she had been all action and completely in control after she'd told her about the situation.

"About Trix? Do you think that's actually what happened?"

"Oh, Trixie. Yeah, it sounds about right. I'm sure we'll find out in the morning, but for now she just wants Cynthia." The Welsh girl said, "It's just 'I want Cynthia' and 'Tom is a nob'. I think that's all she can say."

"Fuck Tom, Patsy. Fuck him." Barbara looked up as Patsy had stopped to steady the other girl once again.

"Oh, she's branching out now." Delia smiled slightly. Now they were in safe territory, walking through the threshold of the block – opting to take the lift, and not the stairs – there was a little bit of lightness to be found in the situation. And if anyone could, it was Delia. "I'll go knock on Cynthia, hopefully she's back." She raced ahead of them down the hallway, as the cold and the urgency of getting inside had eased off and slowed Trixie somewhat. Barbara knew from experience that the moment you were home could be the moment the world began to spin the most, because you were no longer in any danger and you could let the drunkenness overtake you. And that it did.

"Fuck." Patsy practically dragged her limp body into the bathroom, holding back her hair as she retched. "Christ, she did good to get home at all."

Cynthia appeared in the doorway, nightgown on and eyes fraught with worry. "Oh, Trixie." She dropped down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"Go away." Trixie mumbled.

"What was that, Trix?" Cynthia asked softly.

"Not you. Them." A floppy arm unwound itself from the toilet to point at the three of them hovering over the threshold.

Patsy laughed weakly, "Charming. Always so grateful, aren't you, Trix?...Will you be alright, Cynthia?"

"Yes, of course. She can sleep on my floor again tonight." The diminutive girl replied.

Again? Barbara didn't know she had been doing that. She wondered if it was for a similar reason to this, she wondered if Patsy knew, and chastised herself for always missing these things, always being one step behind. It wasn't because no one told her though, it just seemed like they weren't talked about at all – they were inferred. Patsy seemed good at getting the picture, Delia too, but she was naïve and felt silly to be reminded of how much she missed sometimes.

They left a more subdued Trixie in safe hands, and hovered awkwardly in the hallway, not knowing what to do with themselves. They could talk about this all night potentially, but it was late, and there would be time tomorrow. Barbara found herself rambling, whilst Patsy and Delia said very little, once they'd set up in the neutral territory of the kitchen, no one wanting to offer up their room – Barbara would have, but she didn't want either of them to feel obliged to stay up with her. She was shaken, and she knew that Patsy would worry.

When they all head to bed, she sat up thinking about Trixie – she couldn't help it. She knew there was that one time she had been very drunk and Patsy had saved her skin, but she had never seen anyone like that before. Perhaps because she knew it was the pain she was in as well as the alcohol, and watching the two mix like that in her friend had been excruciating. She supposed they would all find out more tomorrow, about what had happened with Tom, and how she'd got so lost, and she was dreading the fact that they would probably have to have 'a talk' with her. She would be terrible at that, and it would be best left to Cynthia, maybe with some help from Patsy.

So wired was she from the night's events, that she wondered if Patsy thought her asleep – or simply deaf – when she heard her next door neighbour's door open and close, the sound of feet padding down the hallway and past her room, one, two thresholds down until what could only be Delia's door sounded. She tried not to take it to heart.


	10. Vengaboys and Bournvita

A/N: The usual, lovelies. Pic-sets under the tag 'AoT' at the tumblr patience-elizabeth-mount. I very much hope you enjoy, I know you've been waiting for this, and there's plenty more to come.

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Delia

Lectures were in full swing again, her bag was unpacked – it took her long enough –and she had caught up with the vast majority of her mates over coffee or on nights out, not to mention she'd got herself back into a good library routine. Everything had returned to normal, almost.

There was only one thing in her life that didn't feel settled down, didn't feel comfortable, after her break at home. Delia was very much used to taking everything in her stride, with a wide smile or a skeptical eyebrow raise, not much could ruffle her, and not much had the capacity to play on her mind. She was kind to people, so she never had lingering feelings of guilt about things said in haste or cruelty, she was confident, so she never thought on a word stuttered over, an awkward hug, from hours before either. In fact most of the thoughts that filled her head were rather happy ones. Her mam even called her soppy sometimes.

It was just that she couldn't stop turning this one thing over in her mind, or one person rather. And to say it was getting her down was something she didn't want to admit, but knew was the truth. Delia thought the sooner she accepted it, embraced it, the sooner she would work through it. But it wouldn't go away, lurking in corners sometimes, but coming to light at the slightest reminder of her – and there were many. Not just because they lived in such proximity, but because she seemed to see her everywhere. Walking past the record shop and spotting something she'd like in the window, grabbing coffee during her lecture breaks and almost ordering a double espresso to go with her own drink, or any bloody redhead on a bike with a sports bag slung over her shoulder, and Delia's thoughts would be occupied by Patsy once more.

They had talked, finally. After those agonizing first few days back, when it felt like it was fresher's week again and they didn't know each other. Except that was a stupid comparison to make because, even if they weren't talking, they did know each other. Delia knew what time she came and went to her various commitments, Delia knew how to garner that sideways smile from her, how to make her laugh, Delia knew how burnt she liked her fucking toast for god's sake. But what she'd realised was that Patsy didn't want to be known any more than that. And she had been mistaken in believing otherwise. She kept thinking about what she could have done differently, if it would have been right for her to hold onto her knowledge about Patsy's mother and pretend to be shocked when the time came for the other girl to tell her from her own lips, to lie to her face for the sake of preventing the anger and pain she'd unleashed but never expected. She kept wondering if Patsy would have been quite so upset with her if Delia hadn't seen all those girls when she first got here, none of whom seemed to matter in the fleeting romances she'd had with them now that all she could think of was the redhead who was so terribly awkward around her, and who would probably never want much to do with her again.

It was not like Delia Busby to be hung up like this.

Perhaps it was because she never really got hung up on much at all – it took a lot. But she supposed that only showed Patsy meant a lot. Usually she expressed herself so openly, and she knew that was why nothing seemed to make a home in the ruts of her mind – for the state of her room, she kept things pretty bloody tidy in her head. But she couldn't, when it come to Patsy. Honesty would make things worse in this situation, and that pained her, because she was nothing if not always honest.

So yes, they had talked. And she was genuinely surprised that Patsy had slipped into her room after they had got back from finding Trixie. Delia would have done the same to her ages ago if she'd known it was alright to, but she didn't want to invade the other girl's privacy, especially considering she seemed to value it so much. At first Patsy had thanked her for finding their friend, for being kind to Barbara, but she knew that the real reason she had come was because they needed to break the ice. Nothing like a crisis to throw people together. It was concluded that they should stop being so stupid, and they had both apologised to each other, though for what she didn't know. Delia knew that, despite having upset Patsy, she'd had to tell her she knew about her mother. And she knew that she shouldn't be sorry for having seen other girls before they'd even…well, she didn't really know what they'd been doing. Equally, Patsy had nothing to apologise for either – her mother had died for god's sake, and even if Delia didn't know how or why, or even exactly when, she was allowed to feel however she wanted about that. It was stupid then, for them to be saying sorry, but it seemed like there was nothing else they _could_ say.

For a moment, just one, she had thought Patsy might stay. She knew the other girl had trouble saying what she felt, what she wanted, that it was impressive enough she'd even come to her room, and she never needed to ask Delia – she would give her anything. But she excused herself quickly after most of the awkwardness was out of the way, saying that she should go and knock on Cynthia and see if Trixie was alright and then go to bed, that it had been a long night.

But despite clearing the air, and even if they were back to casually chatting in the kitchen, maybe even sharing the occasional joke, there was no grabbing coffees in between lectures, no lounging in each other's beds whenever they got the chance. There was something off, a wedge between them that shouldn't really be there. They hadn't fully recovered it seemed, and Delia was _afraid_ to even attempt nursing them back to health. She was never afraid. Especially not of girls. And she wasn't really afraid of Patsy – just of loosing her. She could bear to have her around like this, but couldn't bear not to have her around at all. So she didn't press, and there continued to be an arm's length between them, occasionally bent at the elbow when Patsy allowed, when she made the other girl laugh or blush, but only a little before it snapped right back into place.

In an attempt to try and forget about all of this, as if it were even remotely possible, she had reluctantly accepted an invite to Paradise from some friends in the year above. They'd just had some medicine pre-lims, and were desperate to celebrate, and she supposed they reminded her that there was going to be precious little time for fun as her degree went on. It wasn't bad she supposed, though the only affordable thing was their two-for-one jager bombs, and despite having a proud Welsh gut of steel, that was the one thing it couldn't handle. So she'd already whittled most of her money on overpriced beer, and not for the best of times either. She wished she'd gone to Bunker if she was honest, but she liked this lot – they were pretty cool – and she knew it would do to have older friends on her course when it came to her end of year exams. Besides, she hadn't been out in absolutely ages. In fact, she'd been rather uncharacteristically reclusive and people had begun to wonder where she was, and as such she kept bumping into friend after friend. She supposed this was a good idea after all. Delia danced a bit, accepted tequila shots from a mate – hey, they were free – and decided to retire to the smoking area, because she wasn't quite sure she could deal with one more minute of the Vengaboys.

She escaped just as the DJ started playing Steps. God help her.

Of course it was then that she spotted Patsy. Did she think she would never bump into her on a night out again? Not bloody likely. Delia watched her for a moment – she was alone, lighting a second cigarette after flicking her first at her feet and pressing down on it with her shoe, drawing on it deeply in the way she did when she was stressed. She was staring down, her lip between her teeth. She looked upset.

Maybe Delia should have left her alone, god knows Patsy didn't like to be bothered when she wasn't in a good mood, but they couldn't keep doing this forever, and she had quite a lot of alcohol sloshing around her bloodstream, which was telling her this was a fantastic idea. She dodged a few smokers, parking up next to her against the wall silently.

"Hello." Patsy seemed to swallow the word as she said it.

"Hey, Pats." She replied, pushing some hair out of her eyes.

Silence hung in the air uncomfortably long, and they almost spoke at the same time, but Patsy got there first, "What are you doing out here? You don't smoke. Unless you want one."

She flicked the underside of her pack with her index finger, a cigarette jumping out. Delia shrugged and accepted it, letting the other girl hold the lighter to it's end. "The music is killing my soul."

"Oh, come on. What's wrong with the music?" Patsy challenged her, sinking to the floor against the brick wall so that she had no choice but to follow.

Delia tried to look casual as she smoked, she done this often enough, but not quite enough times to look as natural as Patsy about it. "If I have to listen to S Club one more time, I think I'm going to claw my eyes out."

Patsy blinked at her, "But nobody hates S Club. It's like, everyone's first CD."

"I didn't listen to them growing up. We didn't have CDs in Wales until around 2006." She quipped, gazing at her with intense seriousness.

"Oh, really?"

She couldn't help it then, she cracked up laughing, "Oh, come on. Now it's just getting offensive that you believe everything I say about Wales." It had been something of a game to her, once upon a time – though it really wasn't all that long ago – to see just how far fetched she could make stories about her childhood sound before Patsy called bullshit.

"Well, I've never been to Wales. You're the authority on the subject."

"I thought people like you went on walking holidays with their family to their house in Tenby and Powys and shit like that." She said. She swore half the people she met who spoke like Patsy filled the beaches of her childhood every single summer without fail, got lost on the walks she took the dog on and asked for directions, left their holiday homes empty all year.

Patsy frowned, suddenly focused on her feet again, "People think a lot of things about people like me."

Delia's heart sank, and she cursed herself. There was so much more to Patsy than what there seemed, and perhaps it was that which was causing her mind to wrap itself around her and not let go. In any case, she really ought to remind herself to hold her tongue. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I keep fucking things up with you, don't I?"

She smiled, a small smile, but one all the same. "You? God, no. This is all my fault." Patsy rubbed her brow, taking another drag before opening her mouth – Delia sensed she had something more to say. "Look…I…everything's just a bit-fuck. I don't know." She sighed heavily.

"I do know." Delia stated. "I want to make things right again." So maybe Patsy wouldn't want the same, but if she couldn't say it now, then when could she?

"Me too," She breathed. "Well thank fuck for that." Delia couldn't help but smirk at how hilarious it sounded when she swore, but she thought now wasn't exactly the time to point out her accent.

"Okay, well now that's out the way, why don't you tell me what's wrong? I'm not egotistical enough to think that it might be me, when you were probably trying to enjoy a nice night out."

Patsy sighed, "I managed to get into it with those girls I went to school with. Trixie's not come out tonight, and she wasn't there to make them half as tolerable and be the buffer than she is. So we had it out…one of them cried. Apparently I can be quite cutting. I'm just…I'm just so worried about Trixie in general, and I felt so guilty for going out anyway, I just wanted to get away from the block. And-fucking hell-" She reached into her pocket for her phone, pulling it out and hanging up on the caller, gripping it till her knuckles turned white, "And my aunt won't stop calling me."

Delia was shocked by her outburst, if one could call it that. Though in reality it was, by Patsy's standards. She took a moment to absorb everything she'd said before replying carefully, "Sounds like a good thing that you finally shook them off, if I'm honest with you. You never liked them, I could tell. You don't have to feel guilty about Trixie, she's doing the right thing, and she wouldn't want you to stop having fun because of her – that's like, the polar opposite of what that girl's about." She paused before continuing, "Why is your aunt calling you then?"

"Because she wants to speak to me." She said, almost childishly.

"You seem upse-"

"Oh, god, give me strength." Delia thought she'd done it then, overstepped the mark – but it was so confusing, it kept shifting about and she couldn't keep up with what was allowed with Patsy and what would chase her away – but it wasn't her this time, it was some boys she wasn't acquainted with. Patsy looked like she could not be living up to her name any less in this moment.

"Alright, ladies? Don't reckon we could buy two pretty girls a drink?"

"We don't like cock." She said, absolutely deadpan, before grabbing Patsy by the hand and leading her away.

"Are we going?" She asked.

"Yeah, fuck this place. Let's just head."

Patsy obliged, and they made their way to the exit, the other girl not letting go of her hand as they moved through the crowd. And once they were through it, she still clung on, lacing their fingers together. A smile tugged at the corner of Delia's lips, and she squeezed gently. Patsy jokingly berated her for inadvertently outing her to that unsuspecting boy, despite having promised she'd keep her secret, and they went to the only place in this bloody town that did curry sauce with their chips, because Patsy just had to try it. And despite the cold, they found a bench to perch on briefly – mostly Delia's idea, since one had to be sitting to fully appreciate the beauty of their meal, especially if it was one's first time. Whether Patsy pretend to approve or not, she couldn't tell, but they ate happily until their fingers were too numb to pluck chips from the takeaway box. It was no matter though, because their hands quickly found each other's again, and then Delia's arm was around Patsy's waist, and though the briskness of their walk and the weather that accompanied it sobered them somewhat, they didn't draw back from one another.

"Patsy, have you ever thought of just turning your phone off?" Delia asked, as the familiar sounds of her ring tone began to sound in the street.

"Believe me, I have. I'm keeping it on in case Trixie rings me."

She was quiet for a moment, not wanting to push her, "You're so cryptic, Patsy."

"I know." She sighed. "I'm sorry."

"What is it? Last time it was your dad."

Patsy didn't pull away; she leaned closer, their heads touching as they walked. "My aunt tries to look after me."

"Tries to?"

"I tend not to let her. She was here, when I lived in Singapore, and my mum and sister-"

"Your sister?" Patsy had never mentioned any siblings before and she had a sinking feeling as to why she could have omitted such an important detail about her life.

She could feel that Patsy was so far on the edge of being overwhelmed, that she was holding the other girl to her by a single thread, "Deels, I can't…Not now."

"It's fine." She assured her gently, "We don't have to talk about it."

Patsy relaxed then, painting on her brave face – or maybe it was genuine, Delia wanted to believe that it was – as she drew laughs from her with her quips and her unrelenting sarcasm, the rest of the way home. Before they went in though, before they were going to have to hide the yet again shifted nature of their relationship – though hopefully it had settled well and truly now – Delia thought she should do one thing. She reached for Patsy's hip, uncurling numb fingers, and pulled her close. The redhead's eyes flickered down, as they always did, but with a burgeoning smile the other girl wound her arms around her waist in return and tucked her chin, angling her face. Delia kissed her, gently at first since she knew Patsy's tentativeness all too well. But rapidly, it was as if they had never been apart, as if there had been no argument, no Christmas holidays followed by excruciating awkwardness. And she never expected that it would be Patsy pressing her lips to Delia's this hard, Patsy whose tongue urged her mouth to part, who would pull away breathlessly to suggest they go upstairs. Delia wondered if she herself would have done all that, knowing the other girl's fear, so unbelievably thrilled to have her back that she wanted to do nothing to scare her away.

It seemed though, that Patsy wanted to reassure her in that respect, to show her that she wasn't afraid. She took her hand and they climbed the stairs quietly, though it wasn't that late. Before they could even hover awkwardly in the hallway, still ironing out the creases of the situation that had existed before tonight, neither quite wanting to test the limits of where they stood, Delia suggested they get a cup of something hot down them. The January bitterness had crawled under their skin, and their faces were red, hands white. Patsy looked more porcelain than ever, and Delia was fairly sure she looked like her cheeks had erupted into hives. She opened cupboards whilst Patsy laughed at her brazenness until she grabbed something that looked reasonably like hot chocolate, except it wasn't.

"Deels, not Winifred's Bournvita." Patsy protested quietly.

"Yes, Winifred's Bournvita." Delia rolled her eyes – she did this all the time, everyone had kind of just accepted it. Hey, everyone was welcome to her Supernoodles and microwave meals.

Patsy stood up from her seat at the dining table, opening the fridge, "Fine, but Patsy's almond milk. It'll make it halfway bearable."

Delia screwed her nose up, inspecting the carton she'd been handed, "Trixie really is rubbing off on you, isn't she."

"Hey, it's good."

It was a slapdash attempt at pouring an estimated amount into a measuring jug, pathetically trying to mix in clumps of the powder before heating the milk in the microwave – rookie error – and shoving it in there for probably far too long. The Bournvita was long forgotten even before it was an idea in Delia's head though, and they both knew that. Her now thawed hands found Patsy's sides, tracing them until she had her hips yet again, and Delia urged her against the counter top. The blue of Patsy's eyes was unmistakable in the low light. In fact it seemed to slice through it somehow. She looked mesmerised, but no less than Delia was.

Delia shook her head, "Fuck it." She half laughed, her fingers trailing the curve of the side of her neck, thumb rubbing her cheekbone before she tangled her fingers in the other girl's hair, bringing her down to her level. They kissed until Patsy was urged onto the countertop, until palms were rubbing thighs and fingers pressing into flesh to get a better grip, to feel closer and to feel more of each other. Until necks were bruised beyond repair, beyond all hope of not being ridiculed if tomorrow was braved without a hefty layer of concealer and a scarf. Until, quite frankly, it was ridiculous that they were using some sort of long congealed malt-drink as a farce. Until it was bordering on an absolute joke that one of them hadn't asked the other-

"Do you wanna go to bed?" Delia just came out with it, albeit slightly muffled against the other girl's neck. They couldn't stay here all night, god knows what unspeakable things might happen in the kitchen – they were already pushing their luck, and Delia wasn't the most loved member of this communal space. Patsy nodded and smiled, with far more certainty than Delia thought she'd see. Nothing had to happen, god knows Delia meant that from the bottom of her heart, and she knew that it didn't need to be said – though she'd be happy to remind Patsy if she seemed for one moment to doubt that. But somehow Delia could tell that it probably would – the implication didn't make her pull away like it had before, in fact it made her lean in. She hopped off the counter and pressed a kiss to Delia's shoulder, winding their fingers together. It was Delia who faltered then, taken aback by her willingness, before leading her into the hallway.

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A/N: I just wanted say I've been waiting to write "We don't like cock." for ten chapters. I'd also like to say that at this important point in the story I'm just gonna switch PoV to my sweet-repressed-child Patsy, so please don't be angry with me for cutting you short, you won't miss out. Though please, feel free to vent your frustrations into the review box.


	11. Post-Its and Welsh Kit

A/N: Sorry this one took a little bit longer than usual! Massive thanks and undying love to patsypatsypatsy for holding my hand whilst I've been an absolute baby throughout this fic, and this chapter in particular. As usual, you can find pic-sets under the tag 'AoT' on my tumblr patience-elizabeth-mount. I do hope it was worth the wait, and that you enjoy - let me know if you do! :)

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Patsy

There were dozens of words for it, and perhaps dozens of ways she would come to know it. But for now Patsy liked 'slept with'. She liked it because she never really slept all that well – she'd nod off late and jerk awake during the night and rise early and rarely ever felt properly rested. She shouldn't feel rested now, after a night out and too many types of alcohol consumed in too short a space of time, but she did. Her eyes flickered open as they got to grips with the soft light radiating from behind Delia's curtains, and then she shut them again, not quite wanting to accept that last night was over, but rather wanting plunge herself back into the blissful slumber that was accompanied by the length of a small, warm body pressed against her, hips flush and an arm tight around her waist.

Whilst she couldn't find sleep again, feeling far too awake for whatever the hour was – outrageously early, she suspected – she found last night vivid enough, as if it had been carved into her memory by tender hands. She wished that she could drift back into slumber and perhaps dream of it, and as she shifted gently, drawing Delia's arm tighter around her, the other girl stirred in her sleep. Delia's fingers flexed gently and the sigh on the back of her neck was warm. It only reminded her of what was whispered into her jawline the night before – reassurance, permission, sweet-nothings and declarations of her beauty that made her blush to think about. Delia had been perfect. Utterly and completely perfect. And right now, in her arms, even if she tried to, she could find nothing to turn over in her mind that wasn't entirely pleasing.

She'd slept beside Delia many times before, and she knew that the other girl lived for a lie in, she knew it would be a while yet before she would rise. But that was no bother – Patsy was as comfortable as could be, and she had last night to think on.

Delia's hands had found a perfect home on the crest of her hips, urged her through the door of her room, urged her onto the bed. It had been, of course, rather the same as many other nights they had spent together – up until a point. But knowing 'that point' would come had planted at least some fear in the pit of her stomach. Still though, she told herself to relax enough times, she knew some of what she was doing. They had, as per usual, ended up a tangle of limbs and flurry of wandering hands, though with pointedly less giggling than was the norm for them. Lips joined and breaking only for breath and for the sake of needful necks, clothes had started to slip away between kisses, or sometimes more clumsily during them.

Patsy had thought that keeping her head was paramount, but proved impossible. Delia didn't need her to though, apparently. She had taken her from a bag of nerves to every nerve in her body wanting, and for nothing else but that to be remotely possible to think about, which was a relief because god knows Patience Mount was guilty of over-thinking. There had been room for little else in her vocabulary also, for anything but Delia's name and hurried affirmations that yes, she was okay, for the hundredth time – more than okay. She had appreciated the sentiment, but didn't know how it could be any more blindingly obvious that what Delia had proved capable of doing to her exceeded bliss, and that there wasn't an inch of her that wanted the other girl to halt it.

Of course, she had eventually – after a detailed exploration of Patsy that had left her not worrying about how she looked, unconcerned about how she jutted out here and that birthmark there, but rather, in its reverence, utterly unable to believe how Delia seemed to know so much about her without asking, how she seemed to know things that Patsy didn't even know about herself, or at least learn them astonishingly fast along the way. An exploration that had started in the hollow of her throat and left no stone unturned and ended with a hand tangled in Delia's hair and forearm across her own face and what seemed like a thousand don't stops. It had ended with sounds from the back of her throat that didn't sound like she could possibly make them and a soft smile from Delia and her cheek against the inside of a thigh whilst knowing eyes locked onto hers, and hands that had anchored her to the bed moments before taking her trembling body and soothing it into tranquility, and a kiss that made her feel like she could fall in love. But that was a thought to tuck away, because all to quickly she was going to have to think about how her prowess would pale next to Delia's.

If it had, Delia had been a good actress. So good in fact, that she found herself, in moments, thinking she might actually be quite decent at this. Delia was a good teacher too. Guiding her with words punctuated by a kiss below her ear and hands showing her places she'd only imagined in the privacy of her own thoughts. The other girl was so overwhelmingly beautiful that Patsy knew she would have been too dumbstruck to lay a hand on her without prompting, and later her breathless urging, and later her grasping hands and fingers curling around the sheets and any inch of her she could reach that left Patsy quite shocked she'd been able to make the other girl feel as she had earlier, and equally as shocked that she could appear any more stunning.

She was broken from her reverie by the duvet being pulled up over them, and Delia's yawn. Patsy felt the other girl shuffle behind her, drawing her shoulder blades together as she always did and stretching her arms above her head, her hips pressing pleasantly into her as she woke up her body.

"Morning, Pats" Delia muttered sleepily. Her name sounded different on her lips to how it had done last night.

"How did you know I was awake?" She asked, biting back her smile as the other girl's fingers traced circles on her stomach.

"You're always awake first." She muttered into the back of her neck. Patsy rolled over in her arms, facing her. Delia was right there, and she wanted to kiss her, to tell her what last night had meant and how amazing she was but she was far shier with her words than she had been with her body the night before. Doing was one thing, but she found saying quite another. The other girl wiped the smile off Patsy's lips with her own though, reading her mind in the manner that she seemed so very good at, and that was bordering on uncanny.

Lazy kisses and intertwined limbs mirrored the previous night somewhat, but with far less intensity. There was smirking and jibing and a lot more laughter, though that was mostly Delia finding endearment in Patsy's lingering shyness. She supposed though, that Delia was right to find it funny. What did she really have to hide from her anymore? There was a lot though, in the broader sense. But like this, there was very little – all she hadn't told her, in her own silent way, that she wanted from her, she hadn't learned that she wanted yet, and she was sure that Delia would draw it out of her effortlessly.

"I can't believe its only half-seven. If it weren't for you in my bed, I would have no inclination to be braving the world at this godawful hour." Delia sighed, resting her head between her jaw and her shoulder.

Patsy scoffed, pushing her fingers into her hair, "Only half-seven? I could have done so many things by now."

"But instead all you've done today is me." Delia smiled wryly.

"That was last night." She challenged.

"Well, technically it was today. We only got home at like two in the morning."

"God, we really haven't slept much." Patsy thought she really should be feeling more exhausted.

Delia laughed, "I'm not taking the full blame for that. I'll just have a nap later, you're welcome to join."

That sounded completely perfect, and though she wasn't usually one for naps somehow she knew that she'd probably manage to fall asleep in Delia's arms for at least a little while. Besides, she was always happy to tackle a bit of work with a dozing Delia to occasionally toss glances at – in fact she could think of nothing better.

Eventually though, a grumbling stomach and the thought of the morning shower rush urged her out bed. Not to mention, she could hardly be caught sneaking out of Delia's room. Of course, it could be excused somehow, but she'd rather not be put on the spot like she had been before, and be forced to lie to her friends. It was hard to tear herself away, but she wasn't so self-deprecating that she thought she'd never find herself here again, so she slipped on her shirt and underwear, gathered up her clothes in her arms, and padded down the hallway quietly.

In her smiling haze it had taken her rather a lot longer to get her act together this morning, and she didn't rush as she blow dried her hair into place and chose something to wear. It was a Saturday, so she didn't need to, and her and Delia had planned to grab lunch before teaming up to go through last week's notes – not that they'd be particularly fruitful, since she knew that she'd be so distracted by Delia not much would get done. Patsy just wanted an excuse to spend some more time with her though.

"Trixie, I didn't even go out last night!" She heard Barbara in the kitchen, sounding rather exasperated, as she stepped over the threshold with the intention of grabbing some breakfast. "Trust me, you'd be the first to know if anything that interesting happened in my life."

" _You!_ " Trixie spun around on the spot, pointing a finger affrontingly at Patsy, who was nearly tempted to turn tail and run. "It must have been you then. How could you not tell me, Pats?"

"What on earth are you on about, Trixie?" Patsy glanced to Barbara questioningly, who held a slip of paper out to her.

"Look, I'm thrilled for you finally loosing it, but I'm astounded as to why you'd choose this is your surroundings." She gestured around her.

 **Whilst I tolerate my food being stolen and my things going borrowed and unwashed, having** **SEX** **in the** **KITCHEN** **on the** **COUNTERTOPS** **is completely unacceptable and beyond disrespectful.**

The post-it note couldn't be clearer, penned boldly in Winifred's handwriting. Patsy clutched it, trying to stop her hand from shaking. Of course they hadn't had sex in the kitchen, but Winifred had clearly seen something, which meant she'd seen them. On the other hand, she can't have discussed it with anyone yet, since Trixie had been throwing accusations at Barbara as well. Patsy took a deep breath and thought about what to do, what to say.

 _Ah, yes – you should just lie. That's sensible._

"It wasn't me. I would never have sex in the kitchen." Well, it wasn't entirely lie. Or would she have sex in the kitchen? Okay, now wasn't the time to think about that.

Trixie huffed, "It's disgusting, not even _I_ would do that, and I've had sex in some interesting places. But this is a communal area, Patsy-"

"I told you – I didn't, Trix." That was the truth. They'd only been making out.

The blonde sat down, glancing across at a solemn looking Barbara, who'd clearly got the third degree before she'd arrived. "Well, I guess no one here lost their V card last night then. Still though, it's absolutely…Wait, oh hell no."

"What is it?" Barbara looked up from her cornflakes.

"It was Delia. Of course, it was Delia." She looked like a light bulb had gone off.

 _Oh shit. Oh Mary, mother of God._

Patsy nearly launched herself out of her seat to go and wake up the Welsh girl and pre-warn her of what was about to happen, to beg her not to tell the others about the double-sided nature of what had gone down in the kitchen last night – or rather, not gone down in the kitchen. Because no one had gone down on anyone in the kitchen last night. Patsy wanted to make that perfectly clear. But of course, before Patsy could even halt the impending shit storm, Delia was making a beeline to the fridge with her hair tangled around her shoulders and a pair of Welsh national football shorts on with very little else to accompany them.

She seemed utterly oblivious to the awkward silence around her, as she flung opened the fridge, pulled out Patsy's milk and swigged some from the bottle, then began to rummage around the cupboards for something to eat.

Trixie cleared her throat.

Delia turned, rubbing her eyes, "Oh, morning."

"Delia, I think we need to talk." Trixie stated, whilst Barbara shrank, clearly not into the idea of backing her friend up in this witch-hunt. Patsy just flushed. "Was it you who was fucking in the kitchen last night?"

The Welsh girl looked utterly confused, and glanced to Patsy, who cast her eyes down, not knowing what to say or do, feeling awful for the blame being shifted onto Delia. She supposed she could have made up some boy, but that would have spun her lies further in the wrong direction, and Trixie would have wanted to know every last detail that she wouldn't have been able to provide her with.

"I didn't fuck anyone in the kitchen."

"Because you know, you can't just finger people where we eat." Trixie said matter-of-factly.

Delia snorted, "Oh god, Trix. There are so many jokes there-"

"It's not _funny_ , Delia! You know what Patsy's like – she's a complete clean freak about the kitchen. I mean, are you okay with this, Pats?"

Patsy bit her lip, "If she says she didn't, then she didn't."

"I didn't finger anyone in the kitchen, Trixie." Delia gazed at Patsy, keeping her expression neutral, and she wanted to sink into the ground as she watched the realisation pass her features. "I did have someone back, and I don't know what you saw, but there was just a bit of making out in here." She said calmly, so much more together than Patsy could have ever managed.

"It wasn't me that saw, it was Winifred. And fine, I believe you. Winifred clearly needs someone to go and explain though, but then I don't think she'd know what sex looked like if it bit her on the arse, especially between two girls." Trixie seemed to accept the truth, "So I see your back in the game then, Delia."

"Mhmm, yeah." Delia nodded casually, avoiding eye contact whilst sitting down and drowning some Rice Crispies in milk. Patsy wanted to go and bury herself under her sheets and never come out, not quite knowing how to handle the guilt of getting Delia into shit, lying to all of her friends, and the prospect of being forced out of the closet the very moment Winifred decided to share who she had seen in the kitchen. That was, if she had seen that it was Delia and Patsy. It had been dark. She could be safe. But not knowing was going to absolutely kill her.

Patsy was surprised when Delia slipped into her room without knocking – she'd completely given up on expecting her to simply tap the door a few times before walking in these days – with her books under her arm. Though somehow she knew that Delia's intention wasn't actually to go through their notes together. She spun around in her desk chair, biting her lip, "Look, I'm really sorry about dropping you in it."

To her amazement, Delia laughed. She thought she'd be absolutely furious with her, "It's fine, I'm just a little offended that Trixie was so quick to think it was me. And I wish you'd told me before you left mine that we weren't telling anyone about this."

"Oh, it wasn't an attack on you. She was throwing accusations left, right and centre before you walked in." Patsy paused then, sighing, "I'm sorry, I thought you would have assumed."

Delia was quiet for a few moments, setting her things down on Patsy's desk and hopping up onto it, her legs dangling. "I assumed wrong. I assumed that since you slept with me only a few feet from your best mate, you might be planning on letting her know."

Patsy scooted her chair closer to Delia, resting her chin on the other girl's knee. "I just…I don't think I can."

"Pats, look at me." Patsy abided, glancing up at her. "I can't make you, in fact, I won't. But if we're going to carry on with this, and I'm pretty sure it goes without saying. Though, if you need me to say it – and I think you do – I will. I really wanna be with you, and in my mind that's probably going to involve spending lots of time together, lots of time in the same bed, yet again a few feet from Trixie, and its not gonna stay secret for very long. It's not possible, and I think you know that. And after that, it'll all seem easier – first step Trixie, then the world."

Delia was right, she was absolutely right. And she knew that although the other girl was being kind about it now, she would quickly grow tired of sneaking around – Patsy would too, no doubt. She needed to tell Trixie, and she needed to tell her soon. It already felt…too late though. She knew that her friend would be offended even at this point, and the longer she left it the worse it was going to get. But Patsy was a professional avoider.

"People can be so cruel, Delia." Patsy breathed.

Delia seemed to sense she wasn't talking about Trixie, as she didn't even bother to launch into a defense of the blonde, because they both knew that she would be fine with it – her only grievance no doubt being that Patsy didn't tell her sooner. "You say that like you know it to be true." She remarked, ever astute – scarily so.

"I do." Patsy replied, pulling at the exposed lining of her chair cushion.

"Pats, about last night, with your aunt and that…" Delia started gently, "Are you ever gonna tell me what's going on with you?"

Her stomach sunk to the floor as she realised Delia was starting to connect things, and whilst her instincts willed her to simply start watching her mouth around her, she knew that it wasn't entirely a bad thing. Patsy had never met anyone she'd trusted enough to find herself mentioning, although here and there, snippets of what made her the way she was. She wondered if she actually wanted Delia to draw a picture of her, rather than to tell her – it was certainly easier than talking about it. Maybe she wanted Trixie to catch them snogging so then she wouldn't have to have that conversation either.

"There's nothing to tell, Deels."

Delia looked straight at her, and they both knew the brazenness of her lie. She looked at her like she accepted that for now nothing was going to be said, but like she wouldn't always lie down and take it when Patsy put up her walls and told her she wasn't going to talk about it, and that scared her.

The other girl reached out and stroked her jaw with her thumb, "Can we have that nap now? I really can't be arsed with pharmacology and it won't happen unless I get some more sleep."

Patsy was relieved she'd been let off this time, though feared the day when Delia would press her – or worse, make her feel so at ease she didn't need any encouragement, she'd just come right out with it, because somehow that was far more frightening. She rolled her eyes, slipping back into herself and sighed in mock exasperation, "It's barely even twelve, but fine. I'll lie with you while you fall asleep, then I need to get on."

"Excuse me, but if I find you've moved out of this bed before I've woken up, I won't be best pleased with you." Delia smirked as she released her hand only to pull back her immaculately made blankets.

"What if I need to piss?" Patsy knew that Delia would be none the wiser if she started her own brass band in this very room because the girl slept like a log, but she wouldn't have it in her to defy her anyway.

Delia sighed heavily, "Fine, bladder permitting. Now get in, I know you like to sleep by the wall." She pushed her down playfully.

"You're just trying to trap me." Patsy whined, as Delia draped her body over Patsy's, practically lying atop her.

"Exactly."


	12. Wisdom and Beyonce

A/N: Thanks for waiting a while this time, lovely people! Reviews make me happy ;)

* * *

Delia

It hadn't taken them long to slip into a comfortable routine, although one that was, albeit, slightly tarnished by rather a lot of sneaking around. A couple of weeks after their rather blissful reunion, a making up that was underpinned by much making out and more that she hadn't even dreamed Patsy would be ready to give her, they spent so much time together Delia didn't really know how much longer they were going to get away with it. So, partly it was that which was causing her to urge Patsy to get things out in the open – she knew the other girl, and she knew that being caught off guard would be her worst nightmare. But also it was her frustration with having to creep down the hallway at all hours, withdrawing her arm from around her and untangling their fingers when someone knocked on the door, or their limbs in more dangerous situations. There had been far too many near misses already, and she felt as if she couldn't be herself when she was with Patsy and company.

Delia just wasn't one to bite back her impulses, and it was starting to get to her. She tried not to pressure Patsy though, but even the slightest suggestion of maybe having a chat with Trixie, offering to tell the blonde herself, or a reminder of the fact they were going to get caught any minute – that was if no one suspected already – and Patsy grew agitated.

Patsy was just so fragile about the whole thing though. Easily burned and quick to grow haughty. Delia cared about her so much, and she hated to see her retreat to her room, retreat from _her_. She decided she wasn't going to mention it today of all days though – it wouldn't be fair, since Patsy had all too much to think about despite seeming oddly calm.

The redhead was curled into her side, chin on her shoulder whilst they reclined on the bed, Delia aimlessly pissing about on her laptop. "Please don't back-stalk me, Deels. You're being such a bully." She sighed, trying to wrestle the laptop from her grip as Delia found a way to amuse herself on this delightfully free morning.

"God, you liked a bit of Jack Wills, didn't you?" Delia teased, as she delved further into Patsy's Facebook history, smirking at the cringe-fest she'd stumbled upon.

"Only on Mufti day…everyone wore it." Patsy tried to explain, filtering off when she caught Delia's bemused and confused smirk. "Its when you wear your own clothes." She explained, her cheeks burning.

"Why don't you just call it non-uniform day like everyone else then?" She teased, always having a little dig when Patsy used a random posh word for something, just like she did in return at her Welsh-isms. Patsy shrugged, fiddling with a tassel on the edge of her bed throw, twisting and untwisting the fibres, not sending a jibe back her way. Her brow was creased and Delia shoved her laptop into a less precarious position than her thighs and covered her hand. "Are you finally getting nervous?" She asked.

Her shoulders twitched again, and Delia only had to hold her disbelieving stare for a few moments this time before the truth unfolded – ever so slightly. "A little bit." She admitted. "I don't know if I like hospitals."

"Bit bloody late to drop out of medicine now, isn't it?" She joked, faltering when it the other girl's expression shifted arduously into a forced smile. Delia placed her laptop on Patsy's bedside table and wrapped her arms around her fully, and it was but a moment before the redhead pressed into her, slipping a leg between her own and gripping at her t-shirt. "Are you sure you don't want me to come and drop you off and wait?"

"I meant being the patient." She said darkly, her voice shrinking. "And it's fine. You've got loads of work, and they said I only need someone to come and pick me up." Patsy had been resisting every bit of sympathy and every offer of support she'd been throwing at her all week. If Delia were in her shoes, she'd want all the babying in the world. She might even want her mam to come up from Wales, not that she'd have much of a choice in the matter.

Delia was quiet for a moment, tracing patterns under her shirt in the small of her back, "Were you in hospital when you were a kid or something?" She probed gently. Delia always picked her moments to pry as best she could, and tried to be soft with her, to the point where she hoped that Patsy wouldn't notice what she was doing. But she always did – nothing was going to get past her, and nothing was going to come out by accident. Except maybe her sexuality if they didn't stop doing this in secret.

"Not really." She said, the bluntness in her voice chiseling at the fragile edges of the closeness they now had, closeness that would shatter in an instant if she put one foot wrong. So she said nothing, and instead let her foot trace up and down one of her perfect calves. "I'm going to have to call a cab soon." She sighed.

"Pats, really, I can come with you if-"

"No, Delia – its fine. You'll be waiting god knows how long, and its my fault you didn't get that essay done." She blushed slightly, and Delia smirked.

"I mean, it ended up being a much better all-nighter than I'd imagined." She spoke into her hair, planting a kiss there. "But maybe you shouldn't bring me coffee in the future when you're the one who's thirsty."

Patsy rolled her eyes, giggling, but then jumped apart from her when there was a knock at the door. Delia tried not to sigh outwardly as the other girl put some distance between them and called for whoever it was to come in. "How are you feeling then?" Trixie asked, breezing in and looking unsurprised by Delia's presence at this point.

"Happy to be getting rid of them to be honest." Patsy rubbed her jaw. She'd barely complained about the severe discomfort she said she'd been in for some time, though Delia couldn't say she hadn't seen her increasingly knocking back the painkillers recently. "Just promise not to film me if I'm absolutely off my tits when I come out of theatre."

"Don't you want to go viral?" Trixie teased, plonking herself down on the bed.

" _Trixie!_ Delia, please don't let her." Patsy whined, shooting her an authoritative look.

Delia caved under her glare, and tried to fight her corner, but Trixie got there first, "And how's she going to stop me?" She grinned. "God, I hope you're still proper loopy when you get back."

"You're foul." Patsy huffed, pulling out her phone and dejectedly calling for that cab. Delia wanted to reach for her hand, to overbearingly offer to go with her and see her into theatre just one last time, to say that she could bring her work with her and wait as long as it took if it would make her feel better, but she didn't – not with Trixie perched on the end of her bed.

So instead she settled for waving her off, with the assurance that she wouldn't be far behind her in a couple of hours ready to bring her home. Delia knew she wasn't really going to get any work done – that had just been something that Patsy cooked up so that she could insist on being a little independent about this, as if she hadn't been independent enough already. So instead of chaining herself to her desk, she sat in the kitchen with Trixie, who was preparing a couple of cuppas.

"It's funny how none of her family came up." Trixie remarked, opening the fridge and helping herself to one of Delia's apples. The blonde had given up on asking her to stop stealing her food, and had just started doing it in return. Delia liked to think her thievery had increased the community spirit of their kitchen. "Though I suppose having your wisdom teeth removed isn't quite a heart bypass."

Delia took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully, wondering what she should say – if anything at all. "She told her aunt not to bother troubling herself with the journey. I think they all wanted her to go to some surgeon in London though, so I suppose her aunt probably would have gone with her then."

"Harley Street?" Trixie asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, that's the one. Private doctors, I think." Delia mused, approving of Patsy's choice to go with the perfectly good NHS doctor's that were completely free, thinking it mad to do otherwise. She wondered if it was as much to do with money as it was with not being dependent on anyone else. Delia had never once seen her answer a call from her father, and all she could conclude was that there was some bad feeling there – bad feeling that Patsy under no circumstances wished to discuss. She supposed it would be him that would be fitting the bill if she went to some Harley Street dentist, and perhaps she didn't want that.

Trixie set down two mugs, sitting opposite her and pressing her teeth into her bottom lip for a moment before piping up, "How come Patsy asked you to go and pick her up?"

At times like this Delia was glad she rarely caved under pressure, that she was good at keeping it together, but it was also at times like this that she hated how they were hiding things from their friends. After a rough start with Trixie, and the assumption that she'd never get along with her, let alone consider her one of her closest friends at uni, it felt positively unfair to be lying to her face. Okay, it would only be stretching the truth, but the real answer was that Patsy was her girlfriend. "She knew you had Zumba today, she didn't want to inconvenience you." She said casually, hiding behind the act of blowing on her mug of tea. "You know how tetchy she is about putting people out."

The blonde seemed to accept her explanation, but not after the slightest flicker of a frown that suggested perhaps she was unconvinced by her words. "Do you want me to make you lunch, by the way?" She offered breezily, signaling an end to her probing.

"That would be lush." Delia grinned. "I might set off a bit early, just in case she's out of surgery and on her own."

"Sounds like a good idea. Don't tell her you did though, you know what she's like." Trixie remarked. Delia couldn't help but agree with her there.

* * *

Delia pushed open the door, not quite sure what she was going to be met with. She had initially wrestled with the idea of asking the cab driver to wait, but not knowing what state she would find Patsy in, and how long it would take to get her into the cab, she had handed him a tenner rather than let the meter run, and resolved to grab one from the taxi rank for the way home. Once Delia saw her, she was glad she had.

Patsy turned her head slowly at the noise of the opening door; lazily extending a hand from her position reclined in a dentist's chair. Delia smiled fondly at how pitiful she looked, not her normal self at all, a bib pinned to her front and gauze poking from her mouth.

"Let's take that off you now, shall we?" The nurse removed the white paper from her chest and turned to Delia. "Ah, hello. Just another ten or fifteen minutes and I think we'll be up and out."

Delia laced their fingers together, not able to bite back her smirk at Patsy's wide and dazed gaze. "You alright, babe?" She squeezed her hand.

"You're Delia." It came out muffled, but clear enough to catch. She frowned at the sound of her own voice, and tried to remove the source of the obstruction but Delia stopped her.

"No, no, you can't take that out." She grabbed her other hand, rubbing the back of it gently with her thumb. "And yeah, that's right. It's Delia."

"I don't like it." Patsy mumbled. "What's Delia?"

"I'm Delia." She laughed, realising she was going to have to be rather literal with her for the next hour or so. "Now stay put, don't touch the gauze. The nurse wants to speak to me." She stroked some hair out of her eyes tenderly, and turned her attention to the waiting nurse, who wanted to leave her with some aftercare instructions that Patsy was in no state to remember or implement, though she knew she had researched and learned them dutifully in the days preceding – Delia had too, though she hadn't told Patsy that.

She let the nurse's words wash over her, even though she knew what she was going to say already – no exercise for three days, no heavy lifting or exertion, and definitely no smoking – and from the corner of her eye she observed Patsy. The redhead was frowning, though she had managed to sit up, and looked utterly confused by the situation she was in. Her faux concentration on the nurse was broken when she spotted Patsy trying to take out the gauze for a second time, "No, Pats." She chided the other girl, her words met with an indignant scowl.

"I think we should be good to head home now." The nurse said, glancing over Patsy. "She'll be back to normal after a good sleep, and she doesn't look like she's giving too much lip." She smirked. "Shall we see if we can get you up."

With their help, Patsy was on her feet, looking sufficiently steady. Delia gathered up her rucksack and beckoned for her to follow but she didn't move, stuck in a reverie. "Come on, Pats." She took her hand, and that seemed to prompt her to move. She felt like she was leading a large and bemused child through the hospital.

"Delia." She started.

"Yeah, Pats." Delia replied, turning her attention away from her for a moment to tell the cab at the front of the rank where they were going, and quickly adding that Patsy was off her tits on anesthetic so he wouldn't think she was absolutely insane. "Do you think you can get in the cab for me?"

"I don't know this man." She looked wary.

"Don't worry, I know him. He's a mate. Come on, Pats." The other girl gingerly, not to mention extremely clumsily, slumped into the back of the cab, and Delia shut the door behind her. She looked positively terrified until she realised that Delia was only looping around the back of the vehicle to get in the other side.

"Delia…" She said, whilst poking at the gauze until Delia had to good sense to move her hands away. "What's his name?" She whispered.

"It doesn't matter." Delia hoped she'd move on from the subject of the cab driver before she got too stressed about it, but instead she just began speaking in gibberish, mumbling to herself until she couldn't help but laugh out loud at her.

"Excuse _me_." She folded her arms across her chest, "But what's so funny?"

"What the fuck are you saying, Pats?"

"You must understand your own language." She replied, slipping again into absolute nonsense words, sighing in exasperation and Delia's continued bewilderment. "I'm speaking _Welsh._ "

"I'm pretty sure you're not speaking Welsh." Delia smirked.

"Well maybe if you'd let me take this shit out of my mouth you'd understand." She huffed, drawing her hand away and sulking for the rest of their journey. "When you let me take it out I'll show you how much better I am at Welsh."

"Sure, I look forward to it." She humoured her, since it was probably best to give her what she wanted until she was a little more lucid, as long as she kept that gauze in her mouth and sat down when she was told.

Despite being angry with her, Patsy still managed to rest her head on her shoulder for the remainder of their drive, barely stirring when she paid the cabbie. She shook her awake gently, and told her to stay put and stay calm as she got out and went to open the door for her. She seemed fairly placid as Delia did so, extending a hand for her to pull her out of the backseat. She knew the lift was for use of disabled students only, lest people use it to get to their rooms after drunken night out, but she supposed now was a good a time as any because she didn't quite know how Patsy was going to climb the stairs of their block. She pulled her into it, and Patsy wrapped her arms around her waist, resting her head sleepily against her shoulder. Delia didn't quite think about how this was going to look to the others, and she should have known that there was little chance she was going to get her into bed without being intercepted.

"There she is!" Trixie grinned, her head popping out of the kitchen, followed by a curious looking Babs. "Our little trooper."

Patsy looked affronted by the emergence of two new people, and looked to Delia in confusion. "We're back at your room, babes. We're just gonna put you to bed."

"I don't want to go to bed." She whined.

"But you have to, silly." Delia replied, as Trixie opened Patsy's bedroom door for her, and despite her resistance, she seemed happy to slump down onto her bed in sitting position, looking expectantly at Delia to follow her.

"So how was it, Patsy?" Trixie asked, not quite having assessed the extent to which Patsy was absolutely fucked.

She wrinkled up her nose. "Don't call me that. I don't want to be called Patsy. It's an old lady's name and I'm not a receptionist. I'm a superstar."

Trixie snorted, and Barbara looked sympathetic. "What do you want to be called then?" The brunette asked gently.

She looked up from glaring at her hands, eyes wide like she'd never seen the stars before now, like she'd dropped her first ever bomb and was coming up, like she'd seen her newborn child, and said, "Beyonce."

"Right." Barbara replied.

Trixie was doubled over laughing, and Delia was biting back her giggles. "They're being horrible. They don't believe me. It's my name, for fuck's sake." Patsy screwed up her face, looking terribly distressed and genuinely like she might cry, and wrapped her arms around Delia's waist, burying her head into her neck.

"It's alright…Beyonce." Delia rubbed her back comfortingly.

Patsy planted a clumsy kiss on her shoulder, "See. This one believes me." She made a vague attempt at sticking her tongue out at Trixie, who was lighting a cigarette.

"I'm sorry, darling. So, you're called Beyonce now, that's fine." Trixie said, trying not to laugh. "How can I make it up to you?"

Patsy reached out for her cigarette, and the blonde was about to oblige but Delia shook her head. "What?" Patsy spat. "Delia, let her give it to me."

"You can't smoke, Pa..Beyonce. Not for a week."

"Bullshit." Patsy threw her hands up in the air. "You're all bell ends."

"Charming." Trixie remarked.

Delia bit her lip. "I think I'm gonna try and settle her down and get her to sleep." She glanced up at the others, wondering what they would make of Patsy's current position, because of regardless the fact that Patsy was periodically muttering insults under her breath, such as 'wankers', 'toadstools' and her personal favourite, 'chewing gum on my shoe', she was still cuddled into her like Delia was her teddy bear.

"Sounds like a good idea." Barbara nodded, "I hope you feel better soon…Bey."

"Yeah, get well soon." Trixie didn't seem to take too well to being dismissed, perhaps afraid that she was going to miss the hilarity, or more likely because she didn't understand how Delia had ended up in this position with _her_ friend. Her patience with keeping this a secret really was wearing thin, but now wasn't the time to let it all out. She knew that much.

It was a nightmare to get Patsy settled, and she kept begging her for a cigarette – but Delia wasn't going to budge on that one. She refused to lie down unless Delia spooned her, but she took hardly as much convincing there. She wondered if she should have asked Patsy for her aunt's number, so she could have least let her know that her niece was okay and out of surgery, but even if she knew her passcode she wasn't about to to go into her phone or anything, so she supposed it would have to wait. She was glad though, that Patsy had let her help her even a little bit, but they were going to have to talk more about telling the others – and she wasn't going to let it go this time.


End file.
